


That Marriage is a Spy!

by Emyria



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Fake Marriage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:38:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emyria/pseuds/Emyria
Summary: Sniper and Spy were called to the Administrator’s office one night, not knowing what to expect.// The Fake Marriage AU fanfic every fandom needs and has done before. It’s a story about learning how to live with each other, getting to know each other and much, much bickering. //





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this sorta thing for a long time now. I'm sorry (?) if this has been done before. No rating yet because I don't know how far I will take this. No major content warnings for this story yet either! Will add tags if asked/if needed.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

“Alright guys, listen up. I have an important mission for you two.”

Miss Pauling looked down at the desk in front of her, frowning as she shuffled paperwork around on the only desk in the whole room. She was standing up, movements frantic and knitting her eyebrows together so tight you might think she had them glued together. Sniper and Spy exchanged a short glance as they went back to watching the hectic woman in front of them.

Not often was a mercenary called down here, into one of the working facilities of the administration. The rooms here were filled with cold, sterile air and spoken words echoed around. The floor was polished a blinding white marble stone and the walls did not have one speck of dirt on them, nor any paintings or other decorations, for that matter. 

Long neon pipes hung on the ceiling, flooding the space with artificial light. It was so bright that Sniper regretted having to leave behind his aviators at the entrance of the facility before entering, together with all the weapons he was carrying. It was the mandatory regulation process for coming down here, Miss Pauling had told him. He did not understand why that meant leaving his aviators, too, but left them after a bit of pointless bickering.

At least that ensured that Spy, who was standing next to him, was not carrying any knives or other weapons for once. The Frenchman had been adjusting the buttons on his sleeves for the past five minutes, pretending not to be fazed about this situation, but it was easy to tell he was.

They both had no idea what was going on.

“Found it!” Miss Pauling held a piece of paper up in the air, “that’s what the Administrator left for me. It contains the orders for your next mission, so please listen closely.” 

Sniper’s attention snapped back to Miss Pauling at once while Spy just raised an eyebrow and stopped fumbling with the buttons on his suit.

“As you might have noticed, some unusual stuff has happened these past few days. This mission is related to the incidents that occurred,” she continued.

Of course they had noticed something was going on. Everyone on the RED team noticed. How could they not, after all?

The entire BLU team had vanished and no one had a clue where they went or why they suddenly stopped fighting.

It all started just around a week ago. It seemed like a normal working day for everyone as the Administrator finished the countdown to start the battle and they ran outside the gates at once. They expected the BLUs to push the first point shortly after they set up their defenses and got everyone in position. The gates to the BLU spawn opened and… no one came out. Not a single enemy. 

Tension kept high with everyone on RED team expecting a surprise attack, or the BLU Spy disguising and trying to take out the sentry. But nothing happened and RED was left dumbfounded and utterly confused. The REDs had ensured victory and went back to their base, scratching their heads.

The BLUs were gone, without a trace. And with them, so had the Intelligence, Blutarch and the sole purpose of the RED team.  
It left the RED team in the dark and without a reason to exist. The Administrator has not issued any new orders which left them wondering about their current job situation. With the BLUs gone they officially fulfilled part of their contract and some of the team started looking for a new place to work at, in case they are all resigned suddenly. 

Sniper had looked for a new job (which involved killing people, obviously) back in his home country, Australia, when he got an urgent call by Miss Pauling herself. It was a rare occurrence to be called by higher authority directly, so he had been nervous the whole time. 

Which is why he is here now, standing next to the Spy in the underground facilities of the Administrator. He waited impatiently as Miss Pauling readied herself to deliver the message. Hoping there would be some light shed into what happened to the BLUs and what will happen to his own team.

“It’s… bad.” Miss Pauling said as she exhaled the air she has been keeping in her lungs for the past minute. She scowled as she crumpled the piece of paper she’s been holding like her life depends on it. She let herself fall onto the chair close to the desk and sighed.

It was unnerving to see Miss Pauling rattled like this. You were used to seeing her as the composed, diligent secretary that she represented. Sniper never really exchanged many words with her but he knew that she always had an idea of what was going on.

Sniper chewed on the inside of his mouth as his mind raced. Just how serious could this incident be?

Miss Pauling took a deep breath and placed both of her hands on the desk. “I'm going to be honest with you. We do not have a lot of leads about this incident. That’s the reason I haven’t contacted you sooner. All I have is this handwritten message by the Administrator that I found on my desk on the morning the incident took place.” She looked calmer now, determined to appear professional as she put effort into not breaking into a state of panic. 

“I cannot tell you exactly what is written on here, as you wouldn’t even understand the meaning of this message. All you need to know is that we need you two for this mission. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘I’.” 

She looked up to Sniper and Spy. “I need you for this mission. And I need you two to succeed. This is the only clue I have and the only hope of accomplishing my goal.” Her eyes locked onto the two mercenaries, glimmering with determination. 

A short while passed and Spy cleared his throat, “Well, Miss Pauling, if this mission is of such importance maybe you should tell us what exactly it is about. As much as I appreciate the honor of being down here, I would rather get to the point and leave this place to get to work.”

Sniper agreed in silence, his mind too overwhelmed by this situation to say anything. Miss Pauling snapped out of her stare and sombered up.

“Right. Sorry about that. Let’s get to the important part.” She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath.

“First of all: this is an undercover mission. This is why I gathered you, the Spy of RED team, to use your skills and experience as a trained undercover agent. I need you to infiltrate an enemy perimeter in a civilian town and find out what happened to the Administrator and the BLU team.”

Spy raised his eyebrows in interest at the mention of his name and mission. On the other hand, Sniper’s nervosity grew after hearing it. Why was he called down here? What could he have to do with an undercover mission out of all things?

Miss Pauling took a short breath and clasped her hands in front of her face, before pointing them towards Sniper, “...and I need you to come along.”

Before Sniper could protest and speak up for the first time tonight, he was cut off by Spy letting out a low laugh. “No offense to my fellow teammate but you must be joking. I am speaking out of experience when I say that missions like these are better done alone. Miss Pauling, you just said you trusted my skills as an undercover agent, no?”

“And I thought you trusted my decisions as your long-term employer.” She fiercely replied. 

Spy was taken aback from the harsh tone of her voice but continued, “I trust your decision to give me this important mission and I assure you I will be successful. But it would be very counterproductive for me to… babysit another person.”

Once again, before Sniper could protest he was cut off - this time by Miss Pauling. “There are good reasons why I planned for him to come along! And I was just about to explain before you interrupted me.” She stared at him intensely, making sure he wouldn’t interrupt her again.

“This mission… I never said where I need you to operate exactly. As in, what region or which city.” She sighed, “...or even which continent. Look, I know you won’t like it, but the last and only lead we have tracks back to…”

“Australia.” Sniper blurted out. Both pair of eyes fell onto him, startled, as if they had forgotten that he was there at all. 

“That’s... correct. How did you know about this?” Miss Pauling asked after her initial shock had subsided. 

Sniper shrugged, “Well, it was just my gut feeling but it’s the only thing that made sense. Me and the Spook on a mission? Only makes sense if ya needed something only I know about. And I’m the only Australian in the team.” 

“Ah, yes. That’s correct. That’s exactly why I called you down here, alongside Spy. I need your experience from Australia and an Australian passport for this to work. You will both travel together to Australia and infiltrate a suburban neighbourhood as a married couple. At night you will secretly spy on a facility run by Saxton Hale to find out what happened with the Mann Brothers and more importantly, the Administrator.” 

“Excuse me Miss, but did I just hear ‘married couple’?” Spy, who had carefully been holding back, asked.

Miss Pauling cleared her throat. “I figured the best way to get a Frenchman legally living together with an Australian was to get them… well, married. Yes.” She opened a drawer and placed two identical documents on the desk. 

Marriage certifications. Gérard Mundy and Ethan Mundy, printed in bold black letters.

Sniper once again wished he still had his aviators to hide his face. The shock in his eyes upon reading his real full name in black bold letters must have been so obvious. It was leaving no doubts behind that this is, in fact, his real full name written on the document. 

He didn’t dare looking at Spy next to him. His thoughts were racing: was his teammate really called Gérard? After holding his name secret for so long it was it even alright for him to know his name? Does Miss Pauling even know Spy’s real name?

“I prepared everything in advance. I have plane tickets leaving for Sydney tomorrow and a house ready for you to move in. I will have to let you two go first and join you later, since I don’t have a passport ready for myself yet.” Miss Pauling explained after a short pause, taking two passports - one Australian and one French - from the drawer and two plane tickets headed for Sydney. 

Everything was sprawled out on the desk. Tickets, locations, fake and real documents all displayed in front of their eyes. Spy cleared his throat.

“You have prepared everything very neatly for this job. Just as expected from you, Miss Pauling.” He stated calmly while eyeing the documents with interest.

“Yes. This mission is very important to me. This has to work-”

“But I am very sorry to say that I refuse. I have no desire to work for RED anymore. It is time for me to move on.” Spy interrupted Miss Pauling for the second time this evening. 

Sniper turned his head to Spy in shock. He has never heard anyone refuse an order from Miss Pauling or the Administrator, not even Spy.

But Miss Pauling did not back off. 

“I knew you would say this, Spy.” She placed both of her hands on the table and looked into his face, “I knew you would refuse to go to Australia with Sniper. But I still asked you to do it, even though I knew you wouldn’t go. And you know why?” She smiled with cunningly.

“I found every piece of personal information about you in the Administrator’s office. Every place you ever visited and every relative of yours who’s still alive. Every little detail about your life.” Spy’s eyes twitched, but Miss Pauling didn’t stop, “and I’m sorry to say that I’m ready to share all those things with your enemies if you don’t cooperate.” 

“That’s blackmail!” Spy took a step forward.

“Exactly. Or, let’s say, it’s a way to convince you to do the right thing.” She sat down on the chair and looked over the documents with a troubled expression.

“Look, I don’t want to threaten you with anything, I really don’t. But listen, whatever happened to BLU team could happen to you, too. I’m not sure what exactly what is was but I know that it wasn’t pretty. I... honestly think they might have been kidnapped and killed. For real - no respawn.” She put some stray hair behind her ear.

“So yer want us to go all the way Australia to search for the dead members of our enemy team?” Sniper asked. He still wasn’t sure what to make of this whole situation but he knew that searching for people who are dead isn’t reasonable. Or something that he wants to do. Not even for money.

Miss Pauling avoided eye contact with him, taking a deep breath. Water glimmered in her eyes. 

“I- I think the Administrator might have been among them. I think they might have kidnapped her, too. But killing her wouldn’t make any sense! The note she left behind wouldn’t make sense - I’m sure she’s alive and they are holding her captured for information about the last- I mean, the...” she put her hands over her face to stop herself from talking, hiding potential tears.

Sniper shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He has never seen Miss Pauling so rattled and didn’t know how to react. Was he supposed to comfort her? Tell her the Administrator is alright? Tell her he will fly to Australia right away and do this ridiculous mission and rescue everyone?

“I guess we have no other choice then, do we?” Spy broke the silence. He reached into his suit to pull out a cigarette before he realised that he had to leave his disguise kit at the entrance. 

“Wait, I think I get a word in this too, don’t I?” Sniper protested. “Yer both have been talking like I’m not even here. I might not be against traveling to Australia, I mean damn, I want to go back but I’m not into this whole undercover… marriage thing.” He felt his face getting red and he mentally punched himself.

“Is that the biggest issue you have with this mission? Oh please, I can assure you that I have it ten times worse than you do.” Spy taunted him while not even looking in his direction.

“Oh yeah? You have it ten times worse? An’ why’s that if you care to explain?” Sniper turned towards Spy.

“Well, I do not actually care to explain. But I suppose it is a necessity for someone like you to understand, as you possess no self-reflection in any way.”

Sniper clenched his fists tight.

“First of all, I have no interest in going to Australia. Meanwhile you were planning to return there anyways and now you get a plane ticket for free. Secondly, I could be doing better jobs without being threatened to be blackmailed, while you should be glad to receive a work offer at all. And thirdly,” Spy looked at his gloves absentmindedly, “having to take your last name is outright humiliating for me. Meanwhile you should be honored to be able to pretend someone as good as me was willing to go with someone like you.”

“Yeah, that’s it mate,” Sniper closed in the space between him and the Spy, “you better be glad they took my bloody weapons before coming down here in this hole, cuz’ I wouldn’t hesitate to show you how we deal with rats like you in Australia.” He threatened.

“I heard you live along rats and vermin with a passion in Australia” He spat, still not looking in his direction.

“You mongrel!” Sniper grabbed the collar of the Frenchman’s fancy shirt and shook him with force.

Spy sent him death threats with the look in his eyes and was about to engage in hand-to-hand combat before Miss Pauling’s yelling stopped both of them.

“Both of you, stop! Your bickering isn’t going to help any of us! Spy, you told Sniper to act more like an adult but you’re acting like a moody child yourself.” Sniper chuckled as he stepped away, “and Sniper - don’t let yourself be easily worked up like that.” 

“Can I not defend myself when this French snake is spitting bullcrap about me?”

“I thought I was a rat.”

“You are, you bloody-”

“Stop!” She threw both of her hands down the table. “Sniper, what did I just say? And Spy, don’t irritate him on purpose. Ugh!” She groaned and hung her head down for a moment, catching her breath.

Sniper cleared his throat and mumbled a low “‘m sorry” while Spy adjusted his tousled shirt and stayed quiet.

“As I was saying, I need your help. I know I threatened to blackmail you earlier but I don’t think I could actually pull that off. I’m sorry.” Tears were creeping up in her eyes again but she regained her compassion after a short pause.

“I have prepared a generous payment, including covering all the expenses you will have on the mission. I’ll leave you all the information and documents you need for the flight and hope to meet you again in Australia. If I don’t see you there… I won’t come looking for you. And I will try to finish the job myself.” She finished explaining and fished out two more folders from the drawer labelled ‘for Gèrard (Spy)’ and ‘for Ethan (Sniper)’.

Both men eyed the folders with confusion but picked them up respectively.

“Ah, the names are supposed to help you. You need to stop calling each other your class description and get used to these names instead. I still wrote ‘Spy’ and ‘Sniper’ on the folder, but in brackets. For some reason.” Her voice got small at the end, looking around sheepishly.

“The accent on the ‘e’ is written the wrong way.” Spy stated, holding the folder in his hands.

Miss Pauling’s face reddened. “It was a long night yesterday, okay? And I still have a lot of work to do.” She stepped around the desk in front of the both ex-mercenaries.

“I will be going now. I hope to see you in two weeks. Goodbye and good luck - with whatever you will choose to do.” She nodded her head to each of them before quickly making her path out of the room, heels echoing with a clicking sound. She did not look back at them.

The door behind Miss Pauling fell closed, leaving the two men in the room alone. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Sniper only now noticed the high pitched noise coming from the neon pipes above him. He felt the need to escape this place, but at the same time he was frozen to the ground.

“The plane leaves at 8:49 a.m. tomorrow. I believe you are accustomed to the rules of oversea flights, yes? Travel light, don’t pack anything that could be considered dangerous and arrive at the airport at least 2 hours before departure.” Spy started lecturing as he was picking up stuff from the desk. Sniper snapped out of his state and watched the Frenchman organizing the stuff on the desk. 

“It is already late. I will return to my quarters and start packing. I suggest you do the same. Bonne nuit.” He concluded and walked towards the exit door, carrying documents in hand.

“Wait. You’re actually going? I mean, to Australia and all?” Sniper quickly asked before Spy could slip out of the room.

He answered, once again, without looking at the Sniper, “I am going. And I will see you at the airport tomorrow.”

He closed the door behind him. The uncomfortable silence settled in the room anew, high-pitched noise drilling into Sniper’s head with a headache creeping up.

“...Ah, piss.” Sniper groaned after the Spy was long gone, putting his hand through his hair. He sighed deeply and felt the need to sit down, legs wobbly and his stomach making turns. 

He sat down on the floor, back leaning against the desk. He could have sat in the chair, but the floor was more to his liking. Too many thoughts whirred around his head, so many it left him dizzy and anxious. He hated it.

He dealt with a lot in his life, so why was he getting so worked up from this? He dealt with shooting people, getting shot at, shooting things that aren’t people, missing people when he tried to shoot them... Sniper mentally stopped himself. Of course, he had never been on an undercover mission and he had never been married to anyone, not even pretended to. Is this the reason he felt like he was getting punched in the stomach repeatedly?

He groaned and stood up, his teeth clenched. He grabbed the remaining documents lying on the desk and looked through them swiftly: fake marriage certification using his damn real name, information about the transfer to the airport, plane tickets, Australian passport and hastily written notes about the mission, presumably by Miss Pauling. He threw them back on the desk.

“Screw this,” he muttered to himself. How dare they assume he’s just gonna nod obediently and go on this crazy mission with the bloody spook. How dare they assume he’s fine with pretending to be married to him. How dare him saying that he will see him at the airport tomorrow. He won’t.

Sniper turned around and walked towards the door, documents left behind on the desk. Just as he was about to push door handle down he had a thought: just take the damn plane tickets. It wouldn’t be considered stealing, right? They were booked on his name, after all. No one else could use them and he would be on the way to his home country, which was his plan all along.

He walked to the desk and sorted through the documents, pulling out the plane tickets and passport. That’s all he needed to get on board, the rest was… redundant. 

He turned around and made his exit before another thought crossed his mind: what if Spy is going to be at the airport and calls him out for not going through with the mission? He won’t be able to show him carrying the marriage certification, making it obvious that he is not interested in cooperating with Miss Pauling’s plan. 

He paused at the door for way too long.

“Bloody damn Spy.” He stomped quickly towards the desk, grabbing the remaining documents and finally leaving the room for good.


	2. Chapter 2

The large illuminated clock read 7:56 a.m. when Sniper found himself lost in the middle of Houston’s bustling airport. Countless people shoved him around and bumped into him repeatedly, screaming children were getting dragged by their stressed parents as the loud speakers announced delayed flights and unclaimed baggage. The hurried footsteps and muddled up conversations echoed in the huge hall, producing an endless stream of noise that invaded every corner of the place, including Sniper’s throbbing head. It was too noisy for him to think and too many people swarming around him to feel safe. 

It was not even an hour until the plane departed for its 18 hour non-stop flight to Sydney, and Sniper was still in possession of his luggage. ‘Travel light’ - the words of Spy repeated in his head as he clutched the straps of his leather backpack even tighter. A small satchel and his favorite backpack was all he had on him. 

Yesterday evening he kept telling himself that he can replace any belongings once he is in Australia - buy better stuff, even. So he ended up tossing the necessities and some keepsakes into his backpack and settled with leaving everything else behind: a dozen identical red shirts, his hunting equipment, his van and his rifles. Never in his life had he thought of himself as a sentimental person, but leaving was not as easy as he first thought.

He quickly gave up on getting sleep yesterday night and instead took his rifle in his hands and cleaned it thoroughly ‘one last time’. He knows he will get it back - Miss Pauling will ship his weapons over once she is done with all the paperwork involved, but it still felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind. He felt the weight of the rifle in his hands, peeking through the scope, only to be met with the gray mesh of his camper van. He got the urge to storm outside into the cold night, to shoot his rifle a few more times, but he knew better than to do that when everyone else was asleep.

His campervan was another story. He practically lived in it, even when he was stationed with RED. He refused to use his assigned room and rather slept in the old van, no matter how hot or cold the nights were, he felt a special kind of comfort in doing so. It was one part of home he managed to bring over to the US long, long ago and it was one part of home he was not so sure he will see again. Miss Pauling’s note said nothing about the possibility of getting it across the ocean, just how he can give up the key and it will be transferred to a safe place for ‘maintenance and storage’. He had brought the key with him, packed neatly in a side pocket of his satchel. It was a good thing he had a spare one to leave behind.

The large illuminated clock read 8:09 a.m. when Sniper was standing in the middle of the airport, completely lost.

And then someone bumped into him, grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“There you are! I was searching the whole damn place for you!” A middle-aged man with greying hair and a furious expression stood in front of him. Two enormous suitcases were placed behind him and he carried additional luggage over his shoulder, looking like an angry tourist. Sniper, overwhelmed with confusion took a moment before he could react.

“Excuse me Sir? Can I help ya’?” He eyed the stranger in front of him with perplexion. Something seemed strangely familiar but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you don’t recognise my voice anymore. It’s been less than 24 hours! And what the hell were you thinking, abandoning the cab Miss Pauling organized for us? Have you even read the notes she made, you idiot?”

Sniper quickly recognised the voice and the way this person talked to him. The man with the short, greying hair, wearing a white dress shirt and simple navy blue pants must be his French teammate. His jaw dropped.

“The hell?! Spy, ‘that really you?” Sniper gasped loudly in surprise. Too loud - he was quickly tackled by the spy in question and shaken firmly by his shoulders, again. 

“You idiot! Do you think it is a good idea to yell things like ‘spy’ in the middle of a heavily guarded airport? If security hears you our cover will be blown before the damn mission even started!” He sharply whispered, angry French accent undoubtedly getting stronger. Sniper couldn’t get over the shock of Spy’s epic face reveal and didn’t even react to being roughly shaken.

“I can’t believe it!” He put a hand up to his forehead, “all these years I thought you were bald under that mask of yours. Or wait - is that just one of ‘yer fancy disguises and all?” He frowned and tilted his head to the side, volume of his voice dropped but the confusion still very clear.

Spy rolled his eyes. “What is under my mask is none of your concern. But yes, this is a disguise just as Miss Pauling has ordered me to take: an age-appropriate normal look that will rouse no suspicion for me, as I will be a French man living in Australia.”

Sniper checked him out one more time: Spy’s face bore the usual icy blue eyes that have always been visible, together with thin lips and a pointy nose. The finger-long, combed back hair that has started to grey at the roots brought out his sharp angled cheekbones. A light five o’ clock shadow and his choice of old man clothes rounded up the whole ‘tired and furious Frenchman’ look.

Sniper hummed in a low tone. “‘Normal look’? Well ya’ sure could’ve worked on that aspect…” 

Spy rolled his eyes again. “Quiet now, Bushman. We don’t have any time to waste, especially after you decided not only to get to the airport on your own but also be an hour late,” he grabbed one of his huge suitcases, “come now, help me get to the luggage drop off so we can actually check in.”

Out of the two suitcases that Spy had brought with him, the Frenchman grabbed the smaller one and expectantly glared at his very confused teammate, who wasted no time complaining about the obvious unfairness.   
“What the hell happened to ‘travel light’? Did you pack your whole damn knife collection in there, you psycho? Go and carry your own damn shit.”

“What did I just say about talking about things that might set off security?” He spoke through clenched teeth. “We are supposed to be travel companions on a leisure trip to Australia. So please try to be less of a lazy asshole than usual and help me get to the check-in.” 

“Oh, look who’s talking here! I guess acting like less of an asshole is impossible for you, eh?” 

Spy was about to turn around and give his lovely travel companion a lecture when the speakers above them started blaring an announcement: “Last call for flight E529D to Sydney, Australia. All passengers please assemble in front of the gate to prepare for boarding.”

“...is that ours?”

“Let’s hurry.” Spy marched straight towards one of the check-in gates with Sniper following close behind him, reluctantly dragging the large suitcase along.

They arrived at the check-in in less than five minutes and were relieved to see that there was no one in line waiting. They went to the counter to find a posh looking woman with fancy clothes and hair bound in a tight ponytail giving them skeptical looks. She did not look pleased to see the two undercover mercenaries at her counter.

Spy was first and dropped off his suitcase on the conveyor belt next to the counter. He pulled out his ticket and passport from his chest pocket and handed it to the woman. 

“Good day, Mademoiselle. We know we are running a bit late and apologize for that fact. My husband here always takes very long to get ready in the morning, despite him not looking like he does.” Sniper glared at him but bit back his complaint. “Ethan, please, can you give the nice lady here your ticket and passport so we can move on quickly?”

“Uhm, sure, one moment…” Sniper’s initial annoyance was replaced by uneasiness. He didn’t like the way Spy was talking to him and he didn’t like the way he called him by his real name. It was all an act, he reminded himself, and he had to play along. 

After a bit of searching he pulled out his ticket and passport from his satchel and placed them on top of the counter.

The lady behind the counter picked them up by the tip of her fingers and checked them with fierce eyes. She hasn’t said a single word to the two undercover travellers, even after Spy’s smooth talk, giving both of them a hard time staying calm. Is she going to cause them trouble? Is their cover already blown?

A moment passed. She cleared her throat and put the documents down, “I will need to check your luggage. Please put both of them on the conveyor belt so the machine can scan it.” Her voice was high-pitched and sharp, with a coarse undertone.

Spy frowned at her words. “Check it? I will not open up my luggage here for everyone to see.” 

The woman groaned in response. “The luggage will be scanned using x-ray technology by the machine. There is no need to open your suitcase as long as there are no dangerous goods inside, so please put the suitcase on the conveyor belt now, sir.” She stated in annoyance, sounding like she had said the exact same thing a thousand times before. Which she probably had .

The suitcases were both placed on the conveyor belt and slowly transported through the mysterious looking box that scanned their contents. And it beeped. And it beeped, again and again. 

The head of the woman perked up at the sound and she pressed a button edged onto the counter. She leaned into the microphone in front of her. “Steve, can you please take a look at this for me?”

Sniper elbowed Spy between the ribs, who let out a yelp in response before turning towards him. Sniper leaned in and whispered. “What the hell have you packed in there?”

Before Spy could even respond a loud voice interrupted him from behind.

“Good grief Rebecca, what do we have here? Got two troublemakers this early in the morning?” 

That was undoubtedly an Australian accent, Sniper immediately thought. And as he turned around he could see that the man standing behind them undoubtedly looked Australian, too. Huge body, huge muscles and the bushy mustache confirming all suspicions.

“Steve, please, I have found some dangerous goods in the suitcases of these gentlemen. I am afraid that you will have to act accordingly.” Rebecca, the lady behind the counter, declared eagerly. The Australian hummed in response and took a good look at the two men in front of him.

“Oi, what have ‘yer packed in there? Aren’t you both waitin’ to get on the plane to Australia? Would be a shame to miss it!” the large man - Steve, apparently - cheerily asked the both very anxious undercover mercenaries while placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

The woman gawked, wildy gesturing with her hands, “It’s knives, Steve, tons of them! Just… wrapped and stuffed into the suitcase! I have never seen someone pack this many knives in one single suitcase!”

“Knives?!” Both Australians present at the scene exclaimed in surprise. Spy just groaned and put a hand to his face.

The woman, now totally shaken, pointed to the screen behind her and pressed a button. Sniper couldn’t believe his eyes as the screen lit up and displayed the x-ray scan of their - no, Spy’s suitcases filled with clear outlines of different sized knives. Lots of them. 

“If you thought that I would leave my knife collection behind, you are wrong.” Spy mumbled, holding his head high and putting both of his arms behind his back. He displayed not a single trace of shame.

“I thought you knew better than to bring a bunch of knives with you! Weren’t you the one telling me yesterday not to bring any dangerous goods?!” Sniper snapped.

“These knives pose hardly any danger as long no one is using them. Which, as far as I know, should not happen once the suitcases are loaded into the plane.”

“That’s not the bloody point!” 

“And then what is the point?”

“The bloody point is that you don’t follow your own damn rules! Meanwhile I left everythin’ behind ‘cus I thought you were gonna, too!”

“That is your personal problem. Anyways, as far as I know, sharp object should be no problem for checked-in luggage. Isn’t that correct, Miss Rebecca?”

Spy remained calm while Sniper was brooding with anger, shouting his words and pointing fingers at the French knife collector. The lady behind the counter had her whole face scrunched up and flushed red, ready to call additional security.

Before things got out of hand, the enormous Australian security guard let out a loud laugh that stopped them all from further arguing.

“Rebecca, darlin’, you know this bloke’s right. As long as his fancy knives stay in his fancy suitcase we ain’t got a problem here.” He explained amusedly. He was the only one finding this whole situation remotely funny, as his colleague was still seething with anger.

“But Steve, can’t you see how many there are in there? That- that’s not a normal amount of knives! They must be dangerous! These men must be...” Her hair was starting to fall loose from her hectic movements. Steve just let out another loud laugh.

“That is an abnormally high amount of knives for two gentlemen, ‘yer right about that,” he wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling, “have we got us some cold-blooded killers in the room?”

Sniper’s heart skipped a beat when he heard those words. “No!” he replied - way too fast. 

Steve stopped laughing and Spy glared at him from the side. He had just single-handedly blown the light hearted atmosphere away with one stupid outburst of his.

Sniper felt the sweat rolling down his forehead. He had to act, he had to lie his way out of this one, quick, before things go downhill.

“No, no that’s not right! These knives are just very important. You see, uhm…” Sniper wasn’t good at this. Damn, he knew he wasn’t good at this but he had to pull something out of his ass so that Spy won’t kill him with all these knives he brought.

“I - I gifted him those knives,” he pointed at Spy with both arms, “they are an important present from me. Every year, for his - our wedding anniversary I give him a hand-carved knife. You know, like I used to do in the Australian outback! To keep the family tradition alive.” Sniper put on the best fake smile he could manage. And it worked. The eyes of the other Australian lit up.

“So I was right! I was thinkin’ you two were arguing like an old married couple and it turns out to be true!” He started laughing with an unstoppable amount of force. “And you’re an Aussie, like me! I heard your accent but you don’t really look like one, no offense, so I wasn’t sure at first.”

Spy was about to cover his ears with his hands, shielding himself from the boisterous voice. Sniper joined the fellow Australian with a light chuckle of his. Rebecca, on the other hand, was still not amused at all. Especially now that her own colleague turned against her. 

“Wedding anniversary, huh? Now that’s just wrong.” She snappishly muttered under her breath, but not quiet enough to fall on deaf ears. Steve’s laughter died once more.

“Rebecca, darlin’,” his voice was gentle but firm, “give these two gentlemen their boarding passes and make sure the packing boys take good care of their luggage. We don’t want anything happening to these very lovely crafted gifts now, do we?” 

Rebecca’s stare was icy cold as she retracted her fingers inwards, scratching her nails on the wooden counter. Ugly creases formed on her face as she clenched her teeth and stayed silent. Steve kept staring at her expectantly .

After a short while, she ended up putting identification tags on the suitcases without any care and stamped the boarding passes for the two gentlemen who just successfully ruined her morning.

Sniper did not dare to move a muscle as this whole exchange took place. His head was still spinning from his impromptu act and how it had worked. Spy, on the other hand, was flicking through the notes made by Miss Pauling, seemingly unperturbed by the display of terrible customer service.

“Here,” she placed the two boarding passes on the counter, “now get to your plane, quickly. Before it leaves and you will be stuck here.” She threw a look at her colleague one last time. “We all wouldn’t want that to happen now, do we?”

She closed the counter and walked away. 

Sniper let out a breath he had been holding in, relieved to be done talking to that awful woman. He was sure that her voice will haunt his worst nightmares for some time to come. Spy grabbed their boarding passes and made an effort for them to get going. 

The helpful security guard Steve pointed them to the right direction and wished them a nice flight and an ‘awesome’ time together in Australia. Sniper appreciated the kindness with a genuine smile while Spy was busy rolling his eyes. 

Once they were alone on their way to the security check he finally spoke up.

“What a waste of time. I have a hard time deciding which of them was worse.” 

“What do you mean?” Sniper’s content smile dropped, “I mean, the woman was straight-out insane, yes, but the guy seemed to be a nice bloke. He helped us out, after all.” 

Spy hissed. “Only because you’re Australian. If you were any other nationality we would have been out of luck and gotten our asses kicked out of the exit door. I guess at least the way back to the base would have been short…”

That statement made Sniper think. Him being born in Australia really was the only reason they got through this whole situation. But then again, they wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place if Spy had followed his own damn rules.

“Damnit Spy, why the hell did you bring all these knives? You knew that would cause trouble! This is your fault in the first place.”

“Quiet, don’t call me that. How many times do I have to repeat myself? Remember what we spoke about and act accordingly - and by acting I quite literally mean: follow your role as planned.” Spy stopped walking and Sniper almost bumped into him. 

“We’re at the security checkpoint now. This is where it becomes crucial to follow our roles.” His voice was low enough that no one but Sniper could hear.

The security checkpoints were bustling with people and guards all trying to get the security check over as quickly as possible. It was hectic and uncomfortable for everyone involved: for the people being scanned and for the guards, who often got into an argument with uncooperating customers. A group consisting of a small family and two security guards was standing a bit aside, yelling loudly at each other. This was their last hurdle before being able to board the plane.

Sniper felt a familiar bad feeling rising from his stomach towards his head, his hands feeling clammy in response to seeing all of this. Spy next to him looked at his wristwatch and made a beeline towards one of the checkpoints. He expected his travel companion to follow but as he checked, he saw the Australian unmoving, standing behind. He sighed and walked back to him.

“What’s the hold-up? We are going to miss the plane!”

“I, uh…” Sniper’s mouth was dry and the words got stuck in his throat. He looked at Spy with wide eyes behind his aviators, somehow expecting him to understand how he was feeling - even though he didn’t understand it himself. 

It took Spy a moment before he caught on. He impatiently grabbed one of Sniper’s wrists, dragging him towards the Checkpoints. “If you are nervous about what to say just let me do the talking. All you have to do is follow the instructions of the staff and we will be done here quickly.”

This only put Sniper partially at ease, as he now was occupied by staring at Spy’s gloved hand dragging him around. Why was he still wearing gloves if he is supposed to be out of his disguise as a spy?

“Please show your ID and boarding ticket to move next in line,” a bored voice coming from his right side interrupted his thoughts. It came from the middle-aged looking staff member busy checking everyone’s ID and boarding tickets.

Before Sniper could react in any way, Spy let go of his wrist and replied with a quick “Yes, just a moment…” before pulling out the needed documents. He slightly nudged Sniper into his sides as a hint for him to do the same.

They handed the documents over. The guy barely looked at them before handing them right back, together with two additional pieces of paper.

“I need you to fill out this entry permit. One of you can do that while the other one can take care of scanning your on-board luggage, or else it’s gonna take forever. That’s all. Next one in line, please!”

The mercs were pushed out of the way by the people behind them. Spy once again grabbed Sniper to move to a spot that was mostly empty. 

“Alright, you heard the guy, yes? I will take care of our luggage and you just have to fill these out. These should be so self-explanatory I trust even someone like you can do it without help.” He shoved the two papers into Snipers hand. “Don’t forget to use the names we have to use.”

Sniper hummed in reply, handing over his leather backpack and satchel. He was sick of being dragged around like a little child, but he figured that if it gets them through this bullshit faster then so be it. It was all going to change once they’ve landed in Australia. Then Sniper would be the one telling Spy about all the things he doesn’t know. Then he would be the clever one.

Spy turned around and made his way towards the security check when Sniper glanced at the documents he had to fill out. 

“Wait!” he called after the Frenchman, who stopped and turned around. 

“What is it now?”

“I dun’ know how to spell yer name…” Sniper confessed, and Spy looked like he was about to scream. And he did.

“It’s Gérard you dimwit! G-E-R-A-R-D with an accent on the ‘e’. I hope I don’t have to explain how to spell ‘Mundy’ because god help me if I do. You know what? I will board this plane alone and leave your ass stranded here-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Sniper intervened before his lovely travel companion drew even more attention to himself than he already did. Sniper tried to stay calm, they had to catch that flight and he knew they were running out of time.

He jotted down the stuff needed for the entry permit and followed after Spy who just finished getting their cabin baggage checked. 

They ran to their gate and quickly lined up, getting ready to finally board the plane. The big windows allowed them to look at the plane from afar. It was a massive state-of-the-art passenger model that carried a couple hundred people at once.

Sniper and even even Spy were in awe. Those tickets Miss Pauling got them really were something special. They aren’t going to travel first class but neither of them have traveled in a fancy way for a very long time. RED never spent any more money than they absolutely had to.

As they entered the plane they were greeted by a pair of friendly looking stewardesses and, presumably, the captain of the ship. They were the last passengers who had to find their assigned seats and sit down.

The plane’s seat layout was 2-4-2, with them sitting next to each other in one of the outer 2-seat rows. Spy insisted that the person with the ‘longer legs’, as he put it, sits in in the aisle seat. The wording sounded like he didn't want to admit that Sniper is simply taller than him, but the Australian didn’t feel like pointing that out and starting another argument.

They sat down, made themselves as comfortable as possible and prepared for take-off, glad to be finally in the plane. Rustling through his pockets made Sniper remember that he was still holding onto the landing permit he filled out for Spy and handed it over to him. Spy made a low noise that almost sounded like a mumbled “merci” as he took the paper and read through it. 

He didn’t look very pleased when he did so. 

“The accent on the ‘e’ is written the wrong way.” He sighed.

“Oops. Sorry mate, my bad.” Sniper replied and leaned back in his chair, embarrassed and feeling a lot more uncomfortable than just seconds ago. He noticed how close they had to sit next to each other in those plane seats and tried to make himself as small as possible. 

Those were going to be a fun next 18 hours of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got chapter 3 ready to go and will post it in just a few days :) Thank you for reading so far!


	3. Chapter 3

The instructions for take-off started and the stewardesses did their best to show the passengers how to act in an emergency and where the life-vests were stored. Most people paid close attention, as it might become crucial to be properly prepared. Among those people was Sniper, who watched closely as they showed where the emergency exits were located. Spy, on the other hand, had pulled out a book as soon as he was seated comfortably and didn’t seem to care at all. It irked Sniper to no end that he would just ignore the instructions like that but he was not ready to start another argument by telling him to pay attention.

“Please make sure to fasten your seatbelts properly. Keep them fastened at all times until the light above your seats turns off. We are going to take off shortly. Thank you for your cooperation.” The stewardesses finished their talk and returned to their cabins. Sniper checked his seatbelt one last time and took a glance at Spy, who was reading his book with a bored expression. His seatbelt was lying loosely around him which Sniper couldn’t help but notice. This irked him even more, to the point where he was debating whether or not he should point it out.

The plane started rolling towards the runway at a slow pace and Sniper’s grip on the armrest tightened slightly. He couldn’t believe that he was nervous about flying in a normal civilian plane. Fighting on a battlefield where he could potentially be killed numerous times - thanks to respawn - was no problem compared to sitting his ass down for 16 hours. He blamed it on not traveling with anything else but his trusty van for a long time, and partly for having to share this small space with his teammate.

Sniper thought about how he would feel with somebody else sitting next to him. Would he feel less uncomfortable with some other teammate from RED joining him? Scout? No, he would probably talk too much and he’d end up not getting a wink of sleep. Heavy? No, he wouldn’t even sit next to him because he needs two seats all for himself. Pyro? There’s no way they would even be allowed on a plane. Soldier? Demo? Engie? Medic? 

No. Even after all those years of working with RED he had never really been comfortable around any of his teammates. Sure, they never shunned him in any way and he spent some time being with them, but he never got to know them. There wasn’t a single person he preferred over another as they all seemed almost like strangers to him. And yet he got the feeling that Spy, in particular, couldn’t stand him.

The motors of the plane started up and the volume level inside the cabins rose. Spy closed his book and placed it inside the pocket of the seat in front of him, folding his hands and putting them on his lap. He looked outside the window, with the same bored expression as 10 minutes ago. He still had not adjusted his seatbelt accordingly.

Sniper leaned forward a bit, hoping to catch Spy’s attention and mumbled “You should really adjust your seatbelt.” 

Spy’s eyes met his and then moved to his lap, where the belt was buried beneath his hands. He tightened it a bit and went back to looking outside the window.

Sniper leaned back into his seat. Well, that could’ve gone worse. It could’ve gone better, of course; with Spy thanking him for being considerate for his travel companion’s safety, or saying anything at all. At least Spy didn’t start yelling at him again. And at least his bloody seatbelt was adjusted now.

The actual take-off was worse than Sniper remembered from last time he traveled by air. The pressure he felt as the plane accelerated was making him feel sick and his ears only made things worse. They flew upwards for the longest time before the lights above their seats finally turned off.

Sniper took a deep breath. This certainly was not his favorite way of traveling and the flight had only just begun.

The screens mounted on the seats in front of them turned on. The display was simplistic with limited colors but still very impressive for something in a civilian plane. The word “Welcome” popped up and a loading bar indicated the device was booting up. Once it was done it showed an array of information about the flight: the time left until they reach their destination, the current speed of the plane, the time and date and the name of the destination itself. In case someone forgot where they were headed.

15 hours and 43 minutes was the one thing that stood out, it was the time until they reached Sydney. Over 15 hours of being stuck in a tiny cramped space. 15 hours of trying not to die of boredom as they were all trapped in a enormous flying metal cage.

Sniper continued to stare at the screen until the number 43 jumped down to 42. He looked away. Staring at the screen would only drive him crazy, as time was passing way too slowly for him right now. He was usually very patient since his job, sniping, required a lot of patience and holding out in one spot for several hours at a time. But this wasn’t a life endangering mission, no, this was far worse.

The constant rumbling background noise and the crackling in his ears muffled his hearing, so when a stewardess walked by and asked what he wanted to drink he almost jumped out of his seat. 

“Just water, thank you.” He answered after almost embarrassing himself. He only just now noticed how dry his throat has been. Before the lady could even turn to Spy and ask him what he wants he already replied,

“Bring me a bottle of your finest wine. Cost is of no importance.” Spy ordered while still reading in his book. The lady looked a bit taken aback before she regained her composure and left to ask the two people sitting behind the undercover agents.

Sniper had to hold back a groan upon hearing Spy’s order. Of course this French blooded showoff was going to order the most expensive wine there was, even on a bloody plane. Sniper wondered why he was even surprised in the slightest.

It took a while before the flight attendants returned with drinks for the passengers. This time the lady served Spy first, pulling out a fancy looking bottle from a bucket of ice and a wine glass to go along. Spy took both things from her hands instead of letting her pour in the wine for him.

“Merci, that much will suffice.” He said as he eyed the label on the bottle suspiciously. 

Sniper received his glass of water and tried not to down it all in one go. It was so refreshing to have the cold liquid in his throat after all the running they did back at the airport in Houston. He wanted to conserve what he got for now since it might be weird to ask for a refill so soon after getting the drink.

The distinct sound of a cork unplugging came from his right, where he saw Spy sniffing the open wine bottle. Judging from his expression it wasn’t very pleasing as his frown deepened and his his lips curled downwards. He took the glass he was given and carefully poured some wine into it and swirled it around. Just about one third of the glass was filled before he brought it under his nose and smelled it - again. 

Sniper, who had no idea about proper wine drinking couldn’t help but watch the whole process from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel more and more uncomfortable as Spy did all those weird things while everyone else could potentially be watching. 

Spy eventually took a sip of the wine. It was a tiny sip, yes, but at least he finally got around to drinking instead of just sniffing it. His expression turned into a scowl. 

“It’s not good?” Sniper asked carefully. He received an icy glance from the French wine tasting specialist.

“It is not cool enough. Almost room temperature, in fact.” He hummed. “They must have just thrown it in the ice bucket for a few minutes and thought it was all set. Pathetic, really.” He placed the glass down on the tiny tray table and started looking around the plane corridor.

“So… are you not going to drink it?”

A flight attendant passed by and Spy waved them over. He wasted no time complaining.

“You obviously have no idea how to serve wine properly. I didn’t ask for the most expensive one you offer just to be served some room temperature swill. Take this off my hands, please.” He grabbed the bottle and glass and held them up for the stewardess to take.

She didn’t seem very happy about the rash complaints and made no efforts to take the wine back, leaving the Frenchman hanging.

“Sir, I am afraid to tell you that you are not in a wine tasting facility but on a plane sitting in the economy class. If there isn’t anything wrong with the drink you have chosen then I am not able to take it back.” She refuted, annoyed and stressed out.

“Are you deaf? I just explained that there is indeed something wrong with this wine!” Spy argued back, still holding the bottle and glass up.

“I can throw it out for you if that is what you want. But I am afraid I will still have to charge you for it.”

“I am not paying for this offense to wine culture.”

Sniper, who was trapped right in the middle of the two arguing, tried to make himself as small as possible. He slouched down on his seat and tried not to look at either of them, fumbling with his hands. 

“For the last time, we are not a wine tasting facility and alas we do not have a money back policy about uncooled wine. I can throw it out for you or not.”

Spy paused for a moment, his gloved hand clenching the wine glass so tightly Sniper was afraid it would break.

“Fine then - take it and throw it out. Throw out all of the wine you carry on board. Pour it all down the drain and I will fully pay for every single bottle. No one should have to go through drinking this.” He put down the bottle and glass into Sniper’s hands who clumsily caught them and then reached to his back pocket to get his wallet. He pulled out a wad of cash and stuffed it into the glass which still had a bit of wine left in it.

“Here - that should be enough for the dirt you serve on this plane. Keep the change, I don’t care.”

Sniper and the stewardess held their mouths agape. Dumbfounded by the spectacular outburst of the French maniac, unsure of what to do. Sniper eyed the wad of cash that was slowly getting drenched with the red liquid and guessed it to be around two-thousand American dollars.

The stewardess took the glass and bottle slowly and went towards the cabins without saying another word. Once she was out of sight, Sniper snapped towards Spy.

“Have you lost your bloody mind? What in the world was that all about?” He tried to keep his voice as low as possible but anger was seeping through. 

“I just ordered a bunch of wine with my own money. It is none of your concern what I do with it.” Spy calmly replied, opening his book again.

“You ordered it to be poured down the drain! And I think everyone on the damn plane heard you doing so!”

“Trust me, Bushman, pouring it down the drain is the best fate for this terrible excuse for what they dare to call ‘wine’ on this plane.”  
“You’re attracting way too much attention, the people here are all lookin’ at us!”

“Yes, and that might be because of you currently yelling at me.”

“I’m not-” Sniper stopped himself. He had to hold back from strangling his seat neighbour. “But - you said it just wasn’t cool enough. They could’ve just put it back into the ice and it would’ve been fine, right?.”

Spy sighed. “If wine isn’t served correctly it is no better than spoiled grape juice. But of course you wouldn’t know about that. I am sure you could hardly tell the difference between a Château Rothschild and the swill I just had to taste.”

Sniper clenched his teeth. “Well that might be right but at least I’m not actin’ like a bloody spoiled child who is throwing a tantrum on a plane because the wine he got doesn’t suit his fancy taste buds.”

“Don’t even think about starting an argument with me, Bushman.” Spy put down his book and looked him into the eyes. Sniper didn’t back off. Not this time.

“Oh yeah? And you know what else I don’t want to do? Sit next to ya’ in this damn plane. But guess things don’t always work out the way you want them to. So all I’m askin’ you is to watch your tongue and avoid makin’ everyone on this plane hate you. That’s including me, by the way.” He finished and crossed his arms, turning away from him.

Spy never replied to the rash scolding he received. Sniper was glad about that fact yet at the same time he couldn’t stand the high, silent tension between them.

After around an hour passed of them not saying a word, Sniper decided it was enough. Maybe they both overreacted a bit.

He cleared his throat and looked around for something to start a casual, humane conversation about. Spy was still reading in his book, seemingly on the last few pages - perfect opportunity to drop a comment.

“What book are you readin’?” He asked.

Spy took a few seconds to reply, “it’s a report of a detective trying to solve an intricate murder case, based on an event that happened only a few years ago in Paris. A tragedy that ended in the deaths of more than a handful important political figures.”

Sniper’s interest perked up. “Oh yeah? That sounds like a good read. Seems like you’re almost through with it, too.”

Spy hummed. “It might be interesting to someone who doesn’t know who the murderer is, unlike me. This detective writes in a very self-assured manner, all without ever catching the real culprit. The Parisian police only recently found out that they executed an innocent person and that the murderer is still on the run. Kind of embarrassing, really, having published a great failure like this.”

Sniper took a moment to process the information. “So… you know who the real culprit is, then?” he asked carefully.

“I indeed do.” 

“How? Were you involved in... solving the case?” Sniper asked pensively, a bit worried about where this ‘casual and humane’ conversation was going.

“Well, let’s just say I was involved, yes.” Spy replied and closed the book. “Now, if you excuse me, we have a long flight ahead of us and I would like to get some rest. Wake me up if they decide to serve us what they call ‘dinner’.”

Spy stowed away the book and reclined his seat backwards, folding his hands on his lap and turning his head towards the window. 

Sniper leaned back into his seat. Once again, this conversation could’ve gone a lot worse. A lot better, too. All in all it was some kind of progress, he thought. 

Progress in learning about each other. Even if it was about heinous crimes committed in the past.

\----------

‘Dinner’ was served around 3 hours later. Sniper had spent the time trying to nap but he kept waking up every 20 minutes, feeling worse every time he did. His biological clock was completely thrown off, making a good night’s rest impossible.

The stewardess who placed the plastic trays in front of them was a different one from the one Spy was arguing with earlier. Sniper was relieved and woke the Frenchman up by shaking his shoulder gently.

The food was alright, Sniper thought as he finished his tray. The airline served something that could be called Australian cuisine with rice, vegetables and a steak as its highlight. Spy left the steak untouched and returned it whole when the staff member came to collect the trays back.

“Ya’ could’ve at least tried it… It was pretty good for airplane food.” Sniper muttered once the trays were taken away.

“Oh yeah? Well, I guess I will have to take your word for it then.” Spy replied and brushed off a piece of rice that had fallen onto his pants.

“I just think it was a bit of a waste, ya know? Maybe next time just tell them you won’t even try it.”

“If I told his low grade airline company what I don’t want to eat then I would end up with an empty plate. Because my answer would be ‘garbage’ - and as far as I can tell, they just served exactly that.”

Sniper groaned. “You at least ate the rice and veggies! And the steak wasn’t even kangaroo meat or anything you might think is weird. It was just normal beef, that’s all.” 

“It’s fine, bushman. The world isn’t going to end because of some wasted food.” He spat, seemingly uninterested to continue this talk.

Sniper bit back his response. The Frenchman probably wouldn’t understand why Sniper is upset about wasting food. He wouldn’t understand because he was a French stuck-up prick who bought wine for a few thousand dollars just to let it be poured down the drain. He wouldn’t understand what it was like growing up in the harsh outback of Australia.

Silence fell between them. Once again they were back to an uncomfortable tension between them, no one saying a word. Although it might just be Sniper’s imagination this time as he was the only one sulking over Spy’s wasteful ways with food. 

Time could not pass fast enough for Sniper who was sitting in his seat, bored to death and still trying to fall asleep. While he was only feeling dread for the most part, he also felt excitement rising up with every mile they moved closer to his home country. He had to think about the positive points of this mission: returning to Australia.

It has been way too long since his last time Down Under. He had even neglected calling his parents in his time working for RED. They didn’t know that he was coming back! He had to call them as soon as they landed, Sniper thought. He would definitely visit them, too.

Everything was going to be better once they finally set foot on Australian land, Sniper daydreamed as he was finally able to doze off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to apologize for any inaccuracies in this story. Whether it has to do with airport regulations, wine tasting or the canon tf2 lore - I'm trying to make everything as believeable as I can without studying too much into it! That being said, please tell me if I made an obvious/serious error and I will try to correct it.  
> Another thing: shoutout to my beta-readers LC and Vermuth! :)

They set foot on Australian land and felt like they had spent a whole day being thrown around inside a washing machine. Except the part where they smelled pretty bad and not like fresh laundry at all. Though the part where everything was turning and twisting was true. Sniper could barely hold his balance when everyone had to walk down the narrow staircase they brought up to the plane so the passengers could leave.

As soon as they reached the part where they had to wait for the transfer bus to pick them up Spy lit up a cigarette with shaky hands. Sniper hadn’t thought about it on the plane but the French chimney probably felt pretty bad about not being able to feed his addiction for the long flight. Sniper didn’t feel like having any kind of sympathy for Spy but he couldn’t bring himself to drop a snarky comment. The opportunity was perfect but his energy level far too low.

The bus arrived in just a couple of minutes and Spy had to drop the remains of his stick to the ground, stepping on it with his foot. They entered the bus in silence and held onto the railings, waiting for the short ride to start. Back on the plane, Sniper had wanted to talk to his teammate. He tried to strike up conversations because he was sick of the silence between them. Now he was far too tired to say anything, far too tired to care anymore.

They had been waiting for Spy’s suitcases for over 20 minutes now and they were growing increasingly impatient. “That one’s yours, isn’t it?” Sniper pointed out a huge suitcase at the baggage claim. 

“Oui, that’s one of them.” Spy went and grabbed it from the conveyor belt. At the same time his other suitcase rolled out, which Sniper swiftly grabbed and heaved down onto the floor.

This time Sniper ended up with the smaller one out of the two, dragging it towards the exit. Spy was lagging a bit behind and it took a few quick steps for him to catch up.

“You know, back in Houston I asked you to help me carry my baggage because you turned up late for our flight and we were in a hurry. But this time I can carry both.” Spy said, still walking a bit behind the Australian.

“Nah, it’s fine. If it gets us out of this airport quicker I’m all up for it. I got enough of planes for a while. I just want out - alright?” He replied, voice low and tired.

Spy shrugged. “Alright, but don’t expect a thanks from me.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. Wouldn’t have expected one anyways.” Sniper sighed and kept up his steady pace towards the exit, leaving the Frenchman walking a few steps behind him.

They had to go through one last security check where thankfully (and unexpectedly) nothing went wrong before they placed their first step outside the facility. 

After 17 hours of travelling they were free. Free in Australia, as legally registered Australian citizens. Sniper couldn’t remember the last time he felt this dead inside. Next to him the sound of a zippo lighter echoed and nasty smelling smoke reached his nose shortly after.

“So… what now?” Sniper asked after they stood around for a bit, hand still clutching the handle of the suitcase.

Spy puffed out some smoke. “We call the taxi Miss Pauling ordered for us. You really did not care to read the notes about the mission, did you?”

“No, I did not.” Sniper confirmed. He guessed the Frenchman was rolling his eyes at his response.

“So could you at least do that, now that I’ve told you?” He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of his pants, handing it to over.

Sniper stared at the paper for a moment before realizing there was a phone number written on it . “Why don’t you call? I’m no good with phone calls.”

“I’m busy. Now get to the closest phone and get it over with so we can finally leave this wretched place.” He puffed out another cloud of smoke.

“You’re busy with what, exactly?” Sniper eyed Spy suspiciously, who did nothing more than smoke his cigarette.

“Busy with contemplating taking my knives for a test run. Now get to a damn phone before I start unpacking my suitcase.”

Sniper left after hearing that, going straight for a phone booth after locating it just outside the airport’s exit. Once inside, he remembered that phone booths require money to work and that the few American dollars he carried with him wouldn’t work here. He forgot to exchange and withdraw some Australian currency. He cursed his own forgetfulness.

He dug through his wallet in desperation and fear of going back to the very (more so than usual) disgruntled Spy, and gasped in relief as he found a coin with a familiar boxing kangaroo on it. It was lucky for him that his laziness got in the way of tidying his wallet up. For the past few years.

He found four coins that he could use, making it a total of two Australian dollars. That should be plenty enough to call the taxi service and get them out of here, Sniper thought as he started to drop them into the phone booth. He stopped before inserting the fourth coin, with the thought of calling his parents briefly crossing his mind. He put the coin aside and placed the phone receiver to his ear.

“Welcome and thank you for calling Australia’s number one taxi service! Please hold the line while we search for an available spot just for you! While you wait we would like to tell you 10 awesome facts about Australia to make your time worthwhile. Did you know? The average lifespan for the Australian citizen living in Sydney has increased…”

Sniper impatiently curled the phone cord around his finger and bit his lip as he waited intensely for someone to pick up the call. He was starting to worry that the money he put in wasn’t going to be enough when suddenly a boastful deep voice started talking at the other end of the line.

“Hello there! You’re talking with Steve, how can I help ya?”

Steve? Wait, could it be?

“Uhh… Hello there.” Sniper awkwardly responded after a few seconds. “I need a taxi. I mean you probably already guessed ‘cuz I’m calling a taxi service and you’re probably not dumb. W-Wait, what I meant to say is that I’m sure you’re not dumb! No, no…” Sniper felt his face flushed red as he tried to salvage this conversation and almost ripped out the phone cord from twirling it around so much.

“Oy, listen here, mate. I need a place and a name and I will get around to pick you up, alright? If this is a prank call-”

“No, no! It’s not. I’m S- Ethan. Ethan Mundy and I’m currently at Sydney airport. I need a ride for two people and some luggage, if that is alright.” He stated as calmly as he possibly could after embarrassing himself for life.

“Alright I’m on my way, Ethan. Should take me around five to be there, keep an eye out for taxi number 512. See ya soon!”

The line went quiet. Sniper put the receiver back to its holder and sighed deeply. Yep, that one was going to haunt him for a while.

He eyed the coin he set aside just before he called the taxi service. It was only 50 cents but maybe it would be enough to swiftly call his parents and tell them that he was on the same continent as them. It might not be enough to apologize for not staying in contact for… a while, but maybe the joy of hearing that he will visit them would be big enough to overshadow that fact.

He rolled the coin into the slit and dialed the number he had not even thought about for a long time but was still effortlessly retained by his muscle memory.

He put the phone receiver to his ear. He had felt nervous calling the taxi service just now but it was nothing in comparison to the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The phone rang once, twice, three times and Sniper started to worry a bit. Maybe his parents weren’t home? Nothing happened the fourth time and nothing happened when it rang five. No one picked up for a full minute and the phone booth stopped working, requiring more coins.

Sniper put the receiver back. He let out the breath he was holding in and wished he could sit down for a moment, feeling pretty bad about his plan not working out. He wanted to tell his parents that he was back, he wanted to apologize for not calling for so long. But he was all out of change to try and do so.

Later it would work - he thought. As soon as he got the chance he would try to reach them again. They would be so happy to hear from him and the terrible guilt he was feeling would finally disappear.

After collecting himself for a bit he went back to the place where he had left Spy and his two suitcases behind. They were still at the same spot, with Spy smoking yet another cigarette. Or maybe even the third?

“That took you long enough.” The Frenchman greeted him.

“Yeah, sure. Anyways, a taxi is coming for us. Driver’s name is Steve, Car Number 512, he said to keep an eye out for it. I should’ve just told him to look for the smoke signals you’re sending his way…”

“Very funny.” Spy exhaled some smoke. “Although I guess since we are in Australia it would be the best way to communicate with the folk of this land.”

“Oy, we’re in Sydney, not the outback. Sydney’s the most advanced city in the whole world, ‘cuz of the Australium and all. I thought you would know about that.” Sniper explained while looking at the dozens of taxis passing them.

“Yes, of course I know about that. But still, every second person here seems to be named ‘Steve’ and just a few generations of exposure to Australium isn’t going to change the true nature of you Bushmen. There’s no way it is ever going to change the outrageously rude ways of-”

“Oy! Here we are! Stop!” Sniper yelled after a taxi, wildly waving his arms in the air. The taxi stopped and he made his way to the vehicle, leaving the interrupted Frenchman behind, together with his luggage.

A huge, muscular man stepped out of the car. He looked very similar to the Steve from back in Houston and Sniper wondered if it could really be the same person. But there was just no way that could be the case.

“Hey there! Ethan, is that you?” He asked with a broad smile and tipped the safari hat he was wearing.

“Yes - that’s me, Ethan Mundy. And this is my, uh, husband. Ge… Ge-rawd?” Sniper pointed to Spy who was, funnily enough, struggling to get his suitcases over to the taxi.

“Sorry, his name was… Ge-rawd?” The Taxi driver repeated Sniper’s words with wide eyes.

Sniper cleared his throat. “Excuse me, he’s French. I’m no good at saying his name so I always just call him, uh, Jared. ‘Cuz it’s easier.”

The taxi driver chuckled. “I gotta agree on that. It’s way easier on the Australian tongue. You from around the country, right?”

“Yes, right. Not from Sydney but I’ve been around.”

“I bet ya’ have! Landing a good-lookin’ fella like the one you brought along must have taken a bit of searchin’, right?” He nudged Sniper between the ribs and started a hearty laugh.

Good-looking? Sniper felt his face flushing red again. He hasn’t really thought about what other people might think about his ‘husband’ and them being together and how it changed the way people viewed him. 

“Pardon, if you two are done talking about nothing important would you mind giving me a hand?” An annoyed voice asked from the behind the car. It was Spy, of course, who was trying to lift in one of his suitcases into the trunk.

“I’m on it, friend!” Steve replied and heaved in both suitcases with ease. “I’m sure you both are tired from your travels, so go on and make yourself comfortable in the car, I’m gonna be there in just a moment.”

The ex-mercenaries nodded and got into the back seat row, while Steve was talking on a mobile phone outside.

“What did you call me?” Spy asked through clenched teeth, voice low.

“Look, it was either gonna be Jared or me blowing our cover, alright? Ya’ gotta teach me how to pronounce your name properly, later when we’re alone.”

“First you can’t remember how to spell my name and now you can’t even pronounce it! Is there anything you…”

The driver’s door opened and Steve sat down in his seat. “So, boys, where are you headed? I can suggest some nice hotels close to Sydney’s most beautiful beach if you’re interested.”

“No, thank you sir.” Spy replied before Sniper even had the chance to say anything. “I have the address right here, if you don’t mind.” He handed him a piece of paper.

“Oh, that’s a nice neighbourhood. Pretty remote from the city center but I heard the houses there are almost luxurious. Ain’t no hotels there, though. What are two gentlemen like you doin’ there?” He asked while starting the motor of the car.

“We’re, uhh,” Sniper started, searching for a good excuse.

“We’re visiting relatives of his.” Spy finished for him.

“Visitin’ family? Oh, I’m sure they’re gonna be so excited to see you two!” Steve said with enthusiasm as he performed a U-turn and drove towards the highway leading into Sydney. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sniper tried to play along and show some excitement but just felt bad about lying to this very honest man. Spy stared outside the window, cold eyes gazing upon the sweltering streets that currently surrounded them.

“It’s gonna take a bit ‘till we reach our destination, so hang in there.” Steve said and drove onto the highway, turning up the radio to some old Australian pop song Sniper hasn’t heard in forever. He recognised the song and a warm feeling of nostalgia overcame him, the fact that he’s finally back to his homeland slowly sinking in. He was sure his French companion would rather do without the cheery song about skinning kangaroos.

The drive went on for around 30 minutes as they passed the plentiful greenery surrounding the town and astonishing skyscrapers crept up on the horizon. They drove a half circle around the city center and saw a glimpse of the high-tech nature of Sydney that gives it its well-deserved title of being the most technology advanced city in the whole world.

The people they saw walking down the streets were all pretty similar: sporting a bushy mustache and showing firm muscles, be it a man or woman. Tourists or outsiders were quick and few to spot, standing out with their scrawny silhouette that was actually close to the norm - if it was any other country.

Sniper had only been to Sydney maybe once or twice in his life. His parents had always shunned the cities, calling the city folk ‘Australium-bloated brain-deads’ who know nothing about the earnest ways of living and do nothing but polish their muscles and mustaches all day. Sniper had followed his parents’ advice and only went there if it was absolutely necessary, and that was after he started his career as a freelancing assassin, independent from his parents.

Spy had been staring at the passing scenery with more interest than Sniper could have hoped for, almost like a dog sticking its head out of the window. He wanted to ask the Frenchman if seeing all of those amazing things changed his thoughts about the continent, change them for the better. But in the end he was too afraid that the question would start yet another argument and so both of them stayed silent until they reached their destination.

“Here we are boys! What a nice lookin’ place, kinda empty though. Your relatives must have really tidied up before you two arrived. Almost looks like no-one’s been livin’ here for a while!” Steve said as he and the two mercenaries got out of the car.

He was right - the place looked very neat but also empty and dead. The porch was clean and well-kept, yes, but without any signs of life. Not a single chair was placed in the front-garden and all the blinds were down. No-one would expect some happy relatives were going to come out any second and give their guests a warm welcome.

“‘Ya sure you got the right address?” Steve asked with concern as he helped unload the luggage, looking at the house for any signs of life.

“Yes, we are sure we got the right place. We are here a bit too early, they expected us later today.” Spy calmly explained and took the suitcases off of Steve’s hands. “Thank you for your help. How much do we owe you?”

“Oh! Yes, I almost forgot in all this excitement!” Steve put a hand to his forehead and walked towards the taxi to check how much they drove.

Spy paid the man while he left Sniper to drag his stuff to the porch. They heard Steve yelling ‘have an awesome time in Australia, you two!’ while he waved from inside the car. Spy ignored his farewell wishes while Sniper waved back, trying his best to smile.

“Are all Australians like this?” Spy uttered as he searched his pocket for the house keys.

“What? No! I mean, am I like this?” Sniper pointed to himself.

“No, you’re not. But I’m starting to doubt if that’s really any better.” He was still searching for the house keys, getting a bit more hasty with his movements, moving from pocket to pocket.

“So what, you think me being a 2 meter tall muscular ‘Steve’ would make this any better? You’re really just sayin’ those things to piss me off, aren’t you?” Sniper must have regained some energy on the drive, as his anger at Spy came back at once.

“Shush now, Bushman. We have a problem.” Spy crossed his arms.

“What, you mean a problem aside from your poor ass being stuck with me?” 

“Yes. I can’t find the house keys Miss Pauling gave me.” 

Sniper groaned in disbelief. “The hell? You can pack all ‘yer stupid useless knives with you but can’t make sure to pack something as important as the bloody keys?”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?” Spy retorted as he pulled out his cigarette case.

“No, I’m not!” Sniper yelled back, frustrated. He walked away from the porch and paced right back. “I’m going to break the window in or somethin’. I don’t care at this point, I just wanna lie down.”

“Easy now, there’s no need for your primitive solutions. Have you forgotten my profession? Picking a lock like this is no problem for me.” Spy took out a small set of tools from his cigarette case.

Sniper sighed and sat down on the floor, defeated. “Sure, alright. Go on and impress me with your lock-pickin’ skills. It’s sure to make me sleep better at night. But if that bloody door ain’t open in 5 minutes, I’m breakin’ in.”

It took around 15 minutes until the lock finally fell into place with a click and opened the door. Sniper had resorted to lying down on the ground of the porch, listening to french curses coming from the highly trained spy who kept failing at something as easy as picking a lock.

“That took you long enough.” Sniper teased him. “At this point we could’ve just waited for my rich relatives to open the door for us. You know, I don’t really understand why you couldn’t just tell him the truth, that we’re moving in and stuff.” Sniper muttered, still lying down on the ground.

“This is an undercover mission. One of the most important rules is to never give away your base of operation. He can’t know that we’re going to be living here for a while.” Spy explained with an utmost serious tone in his voice.

“Oh yeah, better not tell this very shady taxi driver that Mr. Lock-picking Expert lives here. He could’ve gone to the police and report the embarrassment of you takin’ over 15 bloody minutes to unlock a single door ‘cuz you forgot the house keys. Real dangerous.”

“I’m tired and out of practice, alright? Now quit your talking and get up and help me with the luggage, or are you gonna stay on the porch like an old, useless dog?” Spy groaned and started tugging at one of the suitcases.

“Honestly? Doesn’t sound too bad right now, at least better than dragging your luggage around.” Sniper replied and stayed down, hat put over his face to hide from the sun.

“Well then - suit yourself!” He heard Spy yell from inside the house and shortly after the door closed with a thud, leaving him locked outside.

“Spy? Spy! ‘The hell? You can’t be serious...”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. More info at the end of the chapter.

After a long period of angry knocking and yelling curse words and ultimately threatening to break in, Spy showed mercy and unlocked the door for the furious Australian. Sniper wasted no time in showing how upset he was by continuing his yelling fit to which Spy stayed calm and just rolled his eyes.

Sniper ran out of energy quickly, the fatigue caused by the extensive travel coming back at once. He calmed down and took a look around the house, checking the various rooms and most importantly: checking if there was some food in the fridge by any chance to help him regain some power.

His hopes died quickly, as he opened the fridge and found it completely empty inside. In fact, it wasn’t even plugged in and only hummed to life when Sniper located an outlet and put the plug in. That didn’t stop him from rummaging around the various cupboards that were in the kitchen, only to earn a disappointing comment from Spy, who was passing by.

“They’re all empty. I checked.” He said and disappeared upstairs. Sniper groaned in response, thinking about how they don’t have a car to go buy groceries and that they don’t even know the way to the closest shop. His disappointment and rumbling stomach didn’t stop him from looking around further in the house, checking out a small storage room in the kitchen (also empty), the huge garden behind the building (which had a very nice looking pool), and testing out one of the couches in the living room (by letting himself fall onto it).

He lazed around for a while, glad to relax after such a taxing last 24 hours. Flying through at least 8 different time zones messed up his sleep schedule, feeling dead tired at an early 6pm. He closed his eyes and thought about all the messed up stuff that had happened in these past hours. Miss Pauling, back in Texas, being at her wits end and crying in front of them, or seeing Spy without his mask and both of them getting into trouble at the airport… All those thoughts swarmed his head and fogged his mind with an unbearable amount of noise.

Sniper sighed, deeply, and tried to concentrate on the stillness that was the present. No more plane noise, no more floods of people at the airport, no more lying to innocent bystanders. It was quiet, almost serene, inside the house and Sniper found comfort in it. Even if it was just for a few moments, he ignored all the troubled thoughts that had accompanied him in his travels, and tried to think of nothing.

There was one thing he was not able to ignore though, and that was his empty stomach. He detested the thought of getting up and trying to locate something edible around the area but he knew it was just going to get worse if he kept lying down.

After much struggling and weighing out his options of either staying comfy and possibly starve or getting up and find something to eat, Sniper lifted himself off the couch. Maybe Spy had some idea of where to find a restaurant or something, that bastard always seemed to know everything after all.

Instead of walking up the stairs he yelled for Spy, his voice echoing slightly in the living room. It took a few moments and another attempt at calling down the Frenchman before he received an annoyed and muffled ‘what?!’ in response from upstairs.

“I, uh, was just wonderin’ if you’re hungry. Because I sure as hell am.” Sniper replied, voice barely loud enough to reach Spy.

“... What did you say?” Spy responded after a while, straining his voice to match Sniper’s volume.

“I wanted to ask if you’re hungry!” Sniper yelled, louder than before.

“I’m not.” 

“Well, that’s a shame ‘cuz I am.”

“... What?”

“I’m hungry!” Sniper yelled with all his might, surprised by his own potential of yelling loudly.

The door to the room upstairs finally opened and Spy peaked his head around the corner. “That’s your own personal problem. Now stop yelling ‘spy’ like a madman, we are not on the battlements anymore!”

Sniper hummed - he sure had a point there. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that. Just kinda hard to shake off old habits, ya know?”

Spy sent him admonishing looks from upstairs. “No, I don’t know.”

Sniper felt very stupid and helpless. Of course it was no problem for a master of disguise to change names effortlessly, but the Australian never really had to do that. Not before joining RED and not before this mission. He cleared his throat and chose to ignore that last comment.

“So, I don’t suppose you know where to get something to eat around here? Kinda wanna stock up on some stuff, fill the fridge and cupboards to get us through for a while.”

“Oh yeah sure, of course I know. Just step outside, take a right and keep walking straight until you reach the ocean and get yourself some calamari to go. That should keep you occupied at least for a while, hopefully forever.” Spy stepped out of the room upstairs, heading towards Sniper.

“Okay, no, hear me out. First of all, I was going to buy food for us both. That means something for you, too. Because even if you feel like you’re so much better than anyone else even you need to eat. And second, I don’t know what calamari is and I don’t want to know.” Sniper argued as he watched Spy walking down the stairs slowly.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, Bushman, as I had already planned to come along for the trip anyways. I can’t leave you to do something as important as buying food on your own. God knows what you would buy for me.” He continued, house key swirling around his finger.

“Definitely no wine…” Sniper mumbled under his breath, remembering the spectacle from back on the plane. Before Spy could reply he quickly added, “you found the house keys again? Where were they?”

Spy stopped in his tracks, looking at the key in his hand. “They were… buried, deep inside one of my suitcases.”

“Ah-ha. Probably right next to a knife. Shame you didn’t prick yourself.” Sniper didn’t buy the story but didn’t care enough to ask for a real explanation. “Anyways, we headin’ out right now?”

“Yes, we will have to walk a bit. You better not slow me down.” He opened the door and stepped out, leaving Sniper to hastily put his shoes back on and catch up with the striding Frenchman.

“How do you know where the closest shop is?” Sniper asked once he caught up to Spy.

“I read the notes that Miss Pauling gave us, which you very obviously still haven’t done.” He continued walking with a fast pace, tone of his voice condescending.

“Hey, how would you even know about that? Maybe I just skipped some parts of it.” Sniper lied. He truly did not read the notes that Miss Pauling gave them, but didn’t want Spy to know that fact.

Spy scoffed. “Trust me, I know.” Of course he did. He knows everything, after all.

The rest of the walk was done in silence, with Spy taking the lead and the Bushman pouting behind him, still upset about the rude (but accurate) assumption. The rather gentle Australian air helped him calm down, as it was a nice temperature outside this time of the year. It was colder compared to the harsh Texan summer and a welcome change, even if hot weather never really bothered Sniper, he could appreciate the refreshing breeze accompanying their evening walk. 

They reached the shop in around 10 minutes, flashing neon sign greeting them a hearty welcome and flocks of people exiting and entering the building. It was a modern-looking suburban supermarket with a huge parking lot, nothing like the small corner shops that they were used to from back in Teufort. Spy stopped in front of the entrance and reached for his wallet.

“I know you haven’t exchanged any money since our arrival, so I’m going to let you borrow some of the money I brought with me. I exchanged it before our flight, by the way, because unlike you, I’m not an idiot.” He pulled out a twenty and a ten dollar bill, handing it out for Sniper.

“Yeah, uh, you could argue about that…” Sniper muttered and took the money with reluctance, unhappy with the fact that Spy was once again right: he really did not prepare for this trip. And he was not happy about the fact that he got exactly 30 dollars - not even a fifty - from the man who wasted around two-thousand on some bad wine without flinching.

“Watch your tongue, Ethan.” Spy put his wallet back. Sniper grit his teeth at the mention of his real name.

It was so weird, so wrong to hear Spy address him that way! There was something casual but yet at the same time intimate about it. It all felt like a stupid tease, something to belittle him, and he should be getting back at Spy by doing the same to him.

“Yes, sure, I’m gonna be on my best behaviour Ge-Gerard,” he stammered. What was supposed to be a feisty comeback left him embarrassed and red-faced as he remembered that he still cannot even pronounce his name.

Spy groaned. “It’s Gérard. Now let’s get this over with, please. I’ll give you 20 minutes to do your shopping or else I will leave without you.”

“...so we’re not shopping together?” Sniper frowned.

“Non. Why should we?” Spy put out the cigarette he had been smoking on the way.

“Well, I thought we ought to be married n’ all. Don’t married couples do this kinda stuff together?”

Spy hummed and opened the door to the shop. “I suppose some couples do, yes, but they also hold hands, call each other ‘honey’ and do other stuff we will not have to perform in order to play our roles. I will see you in twenty minutes.” He said with a stoic face and entered the store, door falling closed behind him.

Sniper, still outside the store, stood there for a moment. He thought about what Spy meant with ‘other stuff’ and tried to shake off the images that popped up in his mind. He couldn’t help but feel like this was indeed all just a tease, and he was falling victim to Spy’s messed up game of endlessly humiliating the Australian.

“Bloody hell, that’s really not what I was tryin’ to say.” He muttered to no-one in particular, face even redder than before.

It took him a while before he was ready to enter the store and grab the few things he needed - and could afford - all while avoiding the Frenchman in the progress. He wasn’t ready to cross paths with him so early again, not after that comment he made.

Shopping helped him cheer up for a while. He was happy to see all the Australian brand food he didn’t get to taste in such a long while. He never thought he could get excited about seeing regular old Vegemite standing on a store shelf or spotting barbecue flavored kangaroo jerky in the dried meats assortment.

He grabbed a few comfort foods like hot chocolate and jerky together with essentials like bread and fruits and some meat to eat as dinner tonight. Satisfied with his haul and keeping his low budget in mind he made a line to the checkouts where he was greeted by an overly friendly buff woman sporting a moustache.

Payment went smooth and without trouble, as the total came out as low as 23 dollars, giving him 7 dollars as spare change. Now he only needed to locate Spy and get back to the house so he could finally eat something.

There was one problem, though. Spy was nowhere to be seen. He was nowhere near the exit, Sniper checked inside and outside, expecting to see the Frenchman waiting impatiently for him. Sniper shrugged it off and thought that he probably just wasn’t finished shopping yet. He waited 5, 10 and ultimately 20 minutes for the Frenchman to appear. He kept checking his wristwatch, still set to the timezone in Texas, and peeked into the store window with worry.

Sniper grew nervous. What if Spy already left long ago? He wasn’t sure if he could find the way back to the house on his own and he completely forgot the street name, too. He paced outside the store, trying to figure out the best way to find the location of the house when the door opened and Spy stepped out, four plastic bags in each of his hands.

“Bloody hell! There you are! I was waitin’ out here, worried you left without me!” He walked towards Spy, feeling a mixture of anger and relief. Mostly anger.

“Here, take these off of me.” Spy held out one hand full of plastic bags towards Sniper which he took out of reflex, caught off-guard by their heavy weight.

“Crikey, these are heavy! What did you buy? Some stone bricks or somethin’?” He heaved the bags up, unable to see into them due to the decorative koala pattern printed on.

“Yes. So I can bash them over your head in case I need to rely on primitive Australian ways to kill you should you ask anymore stupid questions.” He started walking after he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it up with one hand.

“Oy, I would appreciate if you stopped with the murder threats, especially since we’re in public, ya’ know. And how about an apology for makin’ me wait so long?” Sniper followed, annoyed and strained from carrying the heavy bags.

“I didn’t tell you to wait for me. You could have just gone back on your own.” He blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. “And for once I have to agree. I’ll save the murder threats for when we’re alone.”

Sniper coughed as the smoke flew into his face and dodged the next cloud by walking right next to Spy. Sniper was reluctant to continue this conversation as Spy seemed in an even worse mood than usual, if that was even possible. Yet he couldn’t hold back from asking a question that had nagged him for a while now.

“Why do you keep sayin’ Australia is all primitive and stuff? I mean, hell, you just saw all the high tech stuff in the shop we were in! They sold robots that clean floors automatically, for christs’ sake! Compared to that the shops back in Texas were remains of the Stone Age.”

Spy, against all expectations, stayed silent for a long time, so long that Sniper thought he would not receive a response. He glanced over to him and saw his face looking troubled, jaw clenched and forehead rumpled in thought.

Once they were back at the house, Spy fumbling with the key at the front door, he muttered what could be understood as an answer. “No matter how many high tech gadgets you stuff into your life, the person behind it stays the same. And Australians stayed behind - primitive and simple-minded. The technology you see in the stores are just a curtain for them to hide behind, to hide their true nature.”

The door unlocked and Spy waltzed into the kitchen, throwing his plastic bags on the counter and left to go upstairs. Sniper was perplexed as to what he meant with what he just said, but did not chase after him. There was a certain bitterness to his words that made them feel honest unlike the countless times before where he complained about Australia. This time it sounded like there was a true reason behind his aversion and it made Sniper worry a bit.

He placed down the bags on the floor gently, in case there were glass bottles in them and attended to his own groceries. He unpacked the few things he bought and started putting them into the fridge and cupboards he seemed fit for. He tried to put everything as neatly as he could, in case Spy cared.

He put all the things he wanted to prepare for dinner onto the countertop and started slicing the loaf of bread he bought. He decided on a simple dinner consisting of sliced bread with a few different kinds of topping and a chocolate pudding as dessert. It will be quick, efficient and leave no mess behind.

As he went on with preparing dinner he wondered what exactly Spy was doing upstairs, and if he felt hungry at all. His grocery bags were lying scattered around the kitchen and Sniper worried if there were some things that needed cooling inside them. Shrugging it off, he finally got to eat the food he prepared and enjoyed every bite of it. He had missed the rustic kind of bread you could get around here and the beautifully smoked ostrich meat that he put on top. A freshly pressed glass of orange juice accompanied his meal, rounding it all off with a bit of tangy sweetness. 

Nonetheless he felt a bit lonely, eating at a huge table fit for a family. He was used to eating alone in his camper van or on missions but it was because of necessity, the small cramped spaces usually leaving no room for another person to join him. Now he was living temporarily in a huge house with enough room for more people than he could think of and he was still eating all alone.

He hummed to himself and drummed his fingers on the table. Should he ask Spy to come down to eat with him? Would he appreciate the thought or would he send yet another murder threat his way? And most importantly, would it even be worth asking?

Well, there was only one way to find out, Sniper thought and got up. He made his way up the stairs and stopped in front of the room Spy had disappeared in, knocking gently on the door. No response.

“Spy? You in there?” He asked from outside the room, too scared to come in without permission.

“Yes. What do you want?” An annoyed voice answered.

“Yeah, well, I was wondering if you don’t wanna join me downstairs for dinner. Actually, can I just come in for a second?”

A short pause before he heard footsteps approaching. “If you must.” Spy said as he opened the door for the Australian who walked inside.

It was the first time that Sniper had even seen the inside: it was a large room furnished with a king-sized double bed with a fancy looking night stands next to each side, a rather long table with some high-tech computer setup on top, a full-body length mirror and two wide curtains that presumably hid the door to the balcony.

Sniper looked around with curiosity and awe, he had hardly ever seen such a modern and clean bedroom before. Everything was so spacious and… neat. Until his eyes fell on Spy’s open suitcase which had stuff scattered all around it and some even on top of the bed.

“Wow, I always took you for the neat n’ tidy type of person.” He said without thinking and regretted it immediately.

“And I always took you for the quiet kind of person which has, unfortunately, turned out to be untrue. So why did you come here? Probably not to tell me you finally read your instructions by Miss Pauling.”

“God, no! I mean, I already have! Why do keep askin’ that?” He stumbled over his own words, finger raised at Spy who sighed.

“Mon Dieu, you really are a terrible liar.”

“I’m not! I mean, it doesn’t matter right now. I came up here to ask if you were interested in havin’ dinner together downstairs. I already started but I can wait if you need time preparing-”

“I already ate,” the Frenchman cut Sniper off, “if that was all you wanted to talk about I will ask you to leave this room as I would like to go to bed for the night.” He explained as he walked over computer on the table and shut it down.

“You already ate, huh. That’s a shame I ‘spose.” Sniper mumbled under his breath, scratching the back of his head. “I guess then there’s always next time.”

Sniper thought about saying goodnight and returning back downstairs before he realised that he was standing in the only bedroom in the entire house - which Spy had obviously claimed as his own.

“Yeah, nah, wait a moment. Who decided you can take the only bedroom all for yourself?”

“Easy; there is only bedroom and I was here first. And may I remind of you who has the keys and is easily able to lock you out if I desire to do so?”

Sniper groaned. “You don’t own the house! Miss Pauling gave it to both of us. And the bed is so freakin’ huge, you can’t tell me that your skinny French ass needs more than one third of the space!”

“Oh, please. If you thought that I would ever share a bed with you then your brain is even emptier than I originally thought. And let’s face it: that couch downstairs must be a huge upgrade from that filthy van you usually sleep in.” He teased Sniper and held open the door for him, signalling that it was time to leave.

Sniper was boiling with anger at this point. “You know what? You’re completely right! I’d rather sleep in a bloody dumpster than in the same bed - no, room as you!”

Spy scoffed. “A dumpster would still be better than that sad excuse of what you called your home.”

“I call it my home. I still do. Actually, I wish I had my van here right now so I could drive you over and sleep on top of your corpse.”

Sniper stepped right in front of Spy, raised finger tapping repeatedly against his fancy French shirt, punctuating every word of what he said. He wanted to be clear about how angry he was right now, ready to punch the Frenchies bloody unmasked face if he drives this any further.

“Leave.” Spy requested, after having a long silent stare down with the infuriated Aussie in front of him.

Sniper waged his options of refusal and compliance and ultimately decided to step out of the room and not look back. As he walked down the stairs he heard a quiet ‘bon nuit’ coming from behind him, but the blood rushing in his ears was too loud to make it out clearly.

The door to the room closed and Sniper was left alone downstairs, restless from the argument. He walked up and down in the living room, thinking about all the ways he could have punched the spy and actually stand up for himself. But no - he once again let the Frenchman walk all over him.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so damn mentally and physically exhausted from today, then maybe he could have come out on top. And maybe if Spy hadn’t been nice with giving him money to buy food and calling him Ethan - then he would have totally punched him in his face.

Clearly, he was just very, very exhausted. And he did stand his ground: by not leaving the house even with Spy terrorising him.

And after all, the couch was very comfortable indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far and once again I am sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter out here. The summer heat and then my summer vacation took a lot of time from me. It should be smooth sailing again from now on as I am back on schedule and the temperature finally calmed down. Hooray :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait this long and thank you for all the wonderful comments so far!

The next few days practically underwent the same routine: Sniper groggily woke up only to find Spy fully dressed, preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The Frenchman left shortly after to do some mission related business he refused to tell Sniper about. Sniper was still half-asleep most of the time when Spy was already opening the door to leave for the day and no matter how many times he angrily asked for Spy to wait, he left without him.

Spy had managed to get a fancy sports car he parked in front of their house only a day after they arrived in Australia. When Sniper asked him how he got a car on such short notice, he was met with stubborn silence. When Sniper asked him to give him the keys to drive to the store so he could buy an alarm clock, he received a very clear and short answer: no.

He asked why Spy wouldn’t let him use the car, and it started another one of their discussions that quickly turned into a heated argument. Sniper lost, not allowed to use Spy’s car due to him not trusting the Australian enough, accusing him of being a bad driver. As if! He bloody lived most of his life in a van!

Not having a car made Sniper’s life a lot more difficult than it already was. He wasn’t able to go to the bank to finally get some country-appropriate currency and had to rely on what he jokingly called his “pocket money” - it was money Spy occasionally tossed Sniper when he bugged him enough about it. That way he could at least get himself some food, even if it meant going the long distance to the store on foot every time.

But that was alright, as Sniper had a lot of free time. Since Spy refused to let him do any of the work that they were provided, he had tried to locate some payphones outside to finally call his parents. Their house didn’t possess a phone (nor alarm clock, damn it!) and the nearest electronics store was god knows where. He sadly had yet to come across a payphone.

Most days Spy came back to the house late, after the sun had set and the temperature had fallen to a pleasant low number. He would usually make a beeline to his master bedroom and lock himself up, while Sniper was banished to the couch in the living room, where he ate dinner alone every evening before heading to sleep.

Today, however, Spy unexpectedly came back when the sun stood high in the sky. Sniper, thinking that he would be alone for the next few hours, had not cared to put on any pants or wash his face and was lying on his couch, keeping himself busy by reading a book he had picked up last time he went to the store.

When the front door opened, Sniper almost fell off the couch in surprise, quickly shuffling to his feet and trying to find his pair of pants. It was too late though, as Spy was already standing in the door frame as he saw Sniper frantically trying to put them on, most of the fabric scrunched up around his thighs.

“I was going to ask if you have time to talk about something but it seems that you are very busy at the moment.” Spy coldly noted as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

“I- I’m not busy! I was just lyin’ on the couch without pants ‘cuz I wasn’t expectin’ you to come back so early!” Sniper desperately tried to explain while he struggled to pull the fabric up his legs. “I was just readin’ my book!”

“Yes, sure, I would have thought nothing else.” Spy stepped away from the door frame and into the room, suspiciously eyeing the couch and sitting down on the armchair next to it. “If you’re done making a fool out of yourself I have something to discuss.”

“Good! Good, I’ve been dyin’ to talk to but you’ve been avoidin’ me like the plague.” Sniper replied as he clasped his belt closed, sitting down on the couch.

“Your fly.” Spy commented as to which Sniper started to fiddle with the small zipper on his crotch until it closed. Once that was done, Spy pulled out a small device from the pocket of the light jacket he was wearing and showed it to the still very embarrassed Australian.

The device looked like some sort of remote without buttons, folded once to make it more compact, fitting in the palm of your hand. There was a short but rather thick antenna sticking out on one of the ends of the device and a slider on the side to, presumably, open the device.

Spy put it down on the coffee table that was standing between them. “It’s an emergency call device. Once opened, you can access two buttons,” he pushed the slider up to unfold the device, “the red button sends out a distress signal to a second emergency call device that is in my possession. The green button accepts incoming signals. It is able to establish voice calls between the two devices if the connection is stable enough.”

“So, like a mobile phone device?” Sniper asked once Spy was finished explaining.

“No, it is more like an advanced walkie-talkie. It cannot call any other numbers besides the ones it is paired up with.” Spy moved the device closer to Sniper, who picked it up and took a closer look while Spy continued talking.

“I got these in case something happens while I am out. You can call me if there is an emergency, but I doubt that will ever happen.” He paused, clearing his throat.

“...Although I did receive some information that someone has figured out where our current base of operations is, even with all the precautions me and Miss Pauling took to stay undercover.” Sniper was so preoccupied with the strange new device in his hands that he almost missed the worried look on Spy’s face.

“So what does that mean? We in danger or somethin’? I still ain’t got no weapons but I have my fists I can use should someone decide to come in uninvited.” Sniper muttered the last part while he put the calling device into his pocket.

“Well, I’m not too sure if fists will help you in this case…” Spy said thoughtfully while tapping a finger on his chin. “The enemy we are up against is rather… special, as far as I can tell.”

Sniper scooted closer to the edge of the couch, his interested peaked immensely as the French spy finally revealed some much needed details about the mission. Spy noticed that he might have said too much to take his words back now.

“Special? What do you mean, what’s so special?” Sniper pressed on, with a fierce look on his face.

Spy leaned back in the armchair, arms crossed. “I don’t know enough yet and I’d prefer not to make some wild assumptions. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about anyways.”

“Well, I want to talk about it! I want to know more about this bloody mission! You’ve just been disappearin’ all day and as soon as you come back you lock yourself in, like some hermit crab crawlin’ into his shell, not giving a damn about cooperating.” He placed both of his hands on the table with force.

Spy sent him a cold glare, arms still crossed. “It doesn’t seem like you want to cooperate either, really. I told you over and over again to read the notes but no, you lie and act like a child and throw a tantrum when I give you a task.”

“Oh, shut it with the bloody notes! Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Sniper raised his volume.

“That’s the thing, bushman, I can’t. And you would know why if you actually managed to do something as simple as follow your orders. So tell me, will you stop lying to me and confess that you have not-” 

“Fuck your stupid notes. To hell with them. This is why no one can stand you bloody spies, always acting like you’re superior to others. Acting like you know if I’m lying to you. It’s bullshit, take your damn fancy callin’ device back, you’ll probably just use it to tell me to read some other shit I should care about.” Sniper stood up, furiously trying to pull out the gadget he was given and threw it on the floor - thankfully cushioned by a soft carpet.

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” said Spy, who was still sitting on the chair, holding his head in one hand now, “listen, I know that you haven’t read the notes because-”

“Oh, of course you know! Because you know everything after all-”

“-because I know what’s written in there. Miss Pauling gave me a copy of your instructions alongside mine. I’ve known since day one.”

Sniper’s mouth fell open. “Wait- ‘yer, what?” He managed to stutter out. Spy’s words shot through him like an arrow through the throat. It was anything but pleasant to know that Spy truly did know that he had been lying all long. “Then why didn’t you just… tell me?” He managed to croak out.

“Honestly? After all of those… arguments, we had I am not sure why. I guess I just wanted to find out if you were going to stop lying to me one of these days. And I got my answer,” he started searching through his inner jacket pocket again, this time pulling out a folded sheet of paper, “so I won’t be needing this anymore.”

Sniper stared at the sheet of paper in Spy’s hand for a bit, not making any motion to take it. He wanted to go and grab it but was unable to move an inch, frozen to the ground from all the embarrassment he had brought upon himself. Yes, he had been lying to Spy all this time and didn’t even think twice about it. And he had been the one complaining about Spy not cooperating. Shit.

Spy sighed and put the paper on the table. He got up in one swift steady movement, seemingly unimpressed by everything that had just happened. He muttered a “au revoir” before leaving and going - not upstairs - but out the front door.

It was quiet in the house. Sniper never really noticed how damn quiet it was before. But now the hum of the fridge from the kitchen was the one thing his ears managed to catch, leaving the low tone to resonate through his body.

He managed to let the tension in his body go for a moment and sit down on the couch. It was not a relaxing kind of sitting down. It was a the kind of sitting down that transferred him back to the time he was in school and the teacher threatened to hit his hands with that nasty stick they always used. It was the kind of sitting where he would rather get up and run away, not dealing with any consequences.

It felt like he was in court and the paper on the table was his testimony. There was no way around it anymore, he had to read it and face all the obvious lies he has told his former team mate.

His shaky hands unfolded the tattered letter and laid his eyes upon the writing that was unmistakingly Miss Pauling’s work:

_Hello Ethan!_  
_First of all: I want to apologize for calling you to this mission on such a short notice. I am eternally thankful for your cooperation in helping to bring Spy - Gèrard - into Australia. You know, without your legal papers it would have taken much longer to find a way to get you Down Under._  
_Anyways, once you’ve both arrived safely you will be free to leave and do anything you want, as your services are no longer needed and your contract has hereby expired._  
_Thank you for your time working with RED and I wish you the best for your future path after your departure from the company, whatever it may be - as long as you don’t take a contract for my head that is, haha. That was supposed to be a joke._  
_Miss Pauling  
_PS: seriously, don’t take a contract for my head__

__Sniper’s eyes jumped from paragraph to paragraph as he tried to process the information etched into the paper. After reading it over a few times he released the breath he had been holding and leaned his head back to focus on the white, blank ceiling of the room._ _

____

____

So that’s what’s been going on. Sniper was not supposed to be here. He was never even supposed to have come to the house together with Spy. That’s why the house only has one bedroom, that’s why Spy was the only one who got money and a car and got all the mission details.

And yet Sniper had lived in this house like it was his own, claimed the couch and left his stuff scattered across the living room. And lied to Spy, oh god, he had known about him lying all this time! He had just lied to his face and he had known! And he had denied it over and over again.

Sniper groaned and covered his face with both of his hands. He messed up big time. He had been trying so hard to get along with Spy and help him with the mission but instead he shattered any trust that might have been there.

And Spy, despite everything, had not thrown him out of the house. Spy, under these circumstances, had been… shockingly nice. He could have just told Sniper the truth from the very start and tell him that they had to go their separate ways after arriving in Australia.

Sniper frowned, lost deep in thoughts. His head hurt from the constant shifting of his face muscles from shock to anger to embarrassment and now just pure confusion: why had Spy never told him the truth either? If Spy had been so eager to get rid of Sniper why hadn’t he handed him the letter by Miss Pauling earlier? Was he so keen on showing that he knew from the very start that Sniper had been lying to him that he would endure living together with him for days? If Spy hated him so much why did he let him live with him? Unless he… didn’t hate him as much as Sniper thought he did?

Sniper stood up quickly, as if the couch underneath him had gone up in flames. He paced around the living room, up and down. As much confusion as he felt there was one thing that became clear to him: he needed to apologize. He needed to apologize for being an idiot that kept lying to Spy and kept thinking he had a role in this mission while it was clear that he didn’t even have the right to be here at all.

He looked around the room frantically, searching for any clues for what to do next. He needed a way to contact Spy, who had left the house a while ago without telling him where he was going. Sniper peered out of the window - the car was gone, of course. Sniper didn’t have a car of his own but the idea of driving around without a plan on how to find Spy was stupid anyway.

Sniper let out a low whine in frustration and sat down on the floor. Maybe being closer to the ground would help him stay level-headed and regain a clear mind. He let his gaze wander around the room when he spotted his solution: the walkie-talkie device he had thrown onto the carpet earlier, lying halfway hidden under the couch.

How could he have forgotten so quickly about that, Sniper thought as he crawled towards the device in a hurry. He fidgeted around with the cover, trying to pry it open with force before remembering the slider on the side that made the cover spring open effortlessly. 

The tiny display was working, showing the current time of two in the afternoon. A wave of relief washed over the Australian - he had been worried that he broke the device earlier with his stupid outburst. He hovered a finger over the red button before he realized that Spy would definitely not appreciate the misuse of the one thing he had entrusted Sniper with. It was for emergencies only, Spy had told him. Does this count as an emergency?

After a minute of contemplating he closed down the cover of the device, putting it on the table after he heaved himself up from the floor. He put a hand through his hair and stretched his crooked clothes to get rid of folds and creases. With a determined look on his face he went up to the front door.

He had a plan on how to try and make things right with Spy. It was a crazy plan, yes, but he would try his darndest to regain some of his dignity. He stepped out of the door not to chase after Spy, no, but to do something he should have done long ago - pay his bank a visit and get himself some money.

If this wasn’t an emergency then he was going to make it one.


	7. Chapter 7

Sniper’s feet hurt in ways he didn’t even know were possible. He had been running around all day, asking strangers for the way to the bank and optionally the closest supermarket so he could buy a drink or two, all while trying not to get lost in the process. When he finally made it to the bank establishment he was sweaty, smelly and red faced from a nasty sunburn as he had forgotten his hat at home.

He gave the nervous lady behind the counter his ID and bank membership card and muttered a ridiculously high number when she asked how much money he’d like to withdraw. The lady was confused, and for good reason: Sniper looked like he was going to rob the bank and not like he owned an account with way over a lifetime of savings.

It pained him endlessly to withdraw money from this account, as it acted as an emergency fund specifically for his parents to use. He gave them the full rights to it and told them to use the money whenever they needed to. He wanted his parents to know that he worked hard to repay them for letting him grow up with their love and care, something the harsh Australian outback was so very sparse of.

The 10k he had requested to withdraw were a lot bigger in cash than he had imagined. He barely even tried to stuff the bundles of money into the pockets of his pants before he asked for a bag in defeat. He left the establishment carrying a plastic bag (they didn’t have anything else) full of money and a heart heavy as stone.

‘Sorry, mum’ he muttered to himself as he passed by the payphones in town. He was way too out of it to even try and give his parents a call, afraid he would talk rubbish and make them worry.

He looked like a maniac, stumbling through town asking strangers for his way back home while carrying a thin plastic bag visibly full of money. People gave him strange looks and turned heads as he passed by them, some even getting out of his way. The heat had been frying his face all day and he was thankful when the sun finally started to slowly disappear behind the mountains in the horizon, but it also meant that it was getting late and he was running out of time.

A wave of relief washed over him when he finally arrived in territory he recognized, upping his tempo one last time as he walked straight towards the house. As expected, he couldn’t spot Spy’s car parked in the driveway, which meant that he wasn’t back.

Sniper unlocked the door, plagued with the thought of Spy never planning to return after what happened earlier today. It wasn’t unlikely that Spy had already had found another residence to fall back to and keep undercover, playing out the mission’s orders without the annoyance of a freeloader in the house.

Sniper sighed and let himself fall onto the couch like a dead weight. His hurting feet confirmed that being a sniper - not a scout - was the right career choice for him. He closed his eyes and hummed to himself, trying to relax. He went over the plan in his head and thought of all the steps he’d have to take. The possibility of things going wrong was high, but the small chance that he could make up with Spy was enough to make him want to try. At this point, he had nothing left to lose.

After the throbbing pain in his feet and legs were reduced to a numbing ache he made his way to the washroom, ready to get all this sweat and dirt off of him and looking forward to dress in the best set of clothes he owned, as it was part of his plan.

That ‘best set of clothes he owned’ disappointingly turned out to be a left-over shirt from the time he worked at RED and a clean pair of jeans. He combed his hair and took care of the wild stubble that was trying so hard to grow on his face. It won’t ever grow into a proper mustache anyways.

Sniper looked at himself in the mirror and inspected his reflection. He never really cared about how other people perceived him, never really cared if they thought he looked ‘good’ or, well, ‘bad’. As a sniper the only thing he cared about was not being seen in the first place, and if he had to go act civil he had his hat and sunglasses to cover up most of his face.

He can’t remember the last time he had dressed for any kind of occasion. It was not like he had time for anything like dating, relationships or formal events and he would be uncomfortable wearing expensive clothing anyways. Hell, his mum and dad wouldn’t even recognise him in a nice shirt and jacket and a pair of those horrible cotton pants Spy always wore instead of his usual get up.

So, he decided he was fine like this. There was no use in worrying over something that just wasn’t meant for him. Most importantly, though, there was no time to worry any longer - he had a plan which was taking place tonight.

Sniper made his way to the living room to grab the emergency calling device with confidence. Only once the device was actually in his hands he got a new wave of anxiety, repeatedly doubting what he was about to do.

No, he couldn’t back down now. This was the last chance he had to talk to Spy. This was the only shot he had. He was not going to miss this opportunity. He never misses.

His thumb pressed down the red button, a quiet click was heard and the small display changed from showing the time and date to the word ‘calling’.

Sniper stared at the device in anticipation, nervously expecting the device to hum connecting sounds which he was used to from phone calls. Instead, without any warning, he heard Spy’s voice through the tiny speaker.

“Ethan, for god’s sake, if you are using this emergency device just to tell me how sorry you are for being a pathetic, lying p-”

“No, listen, this is an emergency. I just got a call! Not any call, a call on this device, I mean! It was from Miss Pauling. She was surprised that I was the one who answered the call because, you know, I’m not s’pposed to be aroun’ anymore, but she told me to get you but you were, you know, not around, so she just told me what she wanted to tell you so what I’m tryin’ to tell you is-”

“Stop it. Wait for me, I will be there in just a few minutes.”

The call dropped.

This really wasn’t how Sniper had imagined the call to go and this time it wasn’t even his fault. Not entirely, at least. Spy hadn’t even let him finish talking, but on the other hand, neither had he.

All he could do now was wait and prepare himself for his biggest lie yet.

* * *

 

“So what you are trying to tell me is that she urged us to get to some building located inside the city to talk to me instead of just talking inside the house?” Spy raised his voice, sceptical of the explanation Sniper had given him a while ago when they had rushed to get into Spy’s car.

“Yes, she said it’s an emergency and there’s no time for her to go anywhere. If you need me to tell you the directions again just ask, I’ve got ‘em memorized. Uh, I’m sure you’re speedin’, by the way.” Sniper commented.

“I know damn well that I’m speeding, that is the point. I thought we had to hurry, after all?” He replied with an annoyed tone.

“Yeah, yeah, sure but y’know - I wouldn’t wanna get you a ticket jus’ for gettin’ us to the, uh, emergency place.” Sniper scratched his chin, accidentally opening a scratch he got from shaving earlier, leaving his fingernail bloodied.

“The emergency place.” Spy repeated, gripping the steering wheel tightly with his gloved hands.

Sniper nervously looked out of the window to avoid eye contact, not saying another word. He had the feeling that Spy knew that he was lying to him again and every time he spoke it made it more apparent. So he opted to stay quiet until he spotted their destination not long after.

“Ah, that’s it! Right there. There’s some parkin’ lots if ya’ turn left here.” Sniper pointed excitedly while Spy furrowed his brows.

“You know this place? Wait, have you been here before?” The Frenchman asked as he parked his car - perfectly, without having to adjust - and got out.

They walked a few steps until they both stood in front of their destination and Spy’s suspicions were confirmed.

“This is a restaurant.” The Frenchman stated and curled up his hands into a fist.

The building in question was dressed with high-tech neon lights, reflecting colors in all directions. A red carpet guided you to its enormous rustic wooden door that was guarded by a bouncer dressed in a silken suit. Torches along the sides set the image of the restaurant as somewhat flashy but at the same time traditional, with just a hint of dangerous.

“It’s not just any restaurant, it’s the best damn steakhouse in whole Sydney!” Sniper exclaimed, throwing his arms open in joy.

“A... steakhouse. You’re telling me that Miss Pauling wanted to meet us here, in person, in public, at a steakhouse - out of all places - in an emergency, while we are on an undercover mission.” Spy said calmly but through clenched teeth as he watched Sniper waltzing towards the entrance.

“Yes! I mean, well, she told me where we have to drive to and I guess this is it. Never thought she’d fancy my favorite restaurant in the whole world but I reckon she just knows what’s good, ‘cuz this place is real good. Really, we should probably head inside so you can see for yourself.” The enthusiasm of the Australian faded slightly, as he noticed the very unimpressed look on his companion’s face. He pointed towards the entrance and took a few small steps towards it, looking behind to see the spy following him with a gap between them.

They passed the bouncer who greeted them with a broad smile and went up to the reception. “Pauling - we booked a table under the name Pauling.” He told the receptionist who swiftly lead them to an empty table. It was a small table with a bright ivory cloth draped over it and had two chairs on each end.

“Oh, seems like Miss Pauling isn’t here yet.” Sniper said as he sat down. Spy hesitated for a moment before he took off his jacket and sat down as well.

Spy leaned back into his chair, staring at Sniper in silence for a minute before he spoke up. “This is a table for two.”

Sniper, who had already been checking out the menu, looked up as if he had been caught stealing. “Oh,” he started and looked away again. He fiddled with the edges of the printed menu. “That must’ve been a mistake by Miss Pauling - she, uh, probably thought I wasn’t gonna tag along after all.”

Spy hummed a low ‘hm’ as response and crossed his arms, still leaning back. “You’re nervous.” He said and Sniper stopped flicking the corner of the menu that he had already partially destroyed.

“Nervous? Me?” Sniper’s voice cracked like a 14 year old’s, turning his face red in embarrassment.

Spy just kept staring at him with his all-knowing icy cold blue eyes, not saying another word. He was waiting for him. Waiting for an explanation.

Sniper sighed and put the menu flat down on the table. “Okay, see, I get it. You know I lied to you - again.”

Spy raised an eyebrow as if he was surprised at all. “Oh?”

“Yes! I lied! About the, the… restaurant. I said it’s the best steakhouse in all of Sydney - it’s not. That was a lie. It’s probably up there in the top 10 though. The thing is, they probably wouldn’t let me into them fancier ones. Because of the dresscode thing, so I chose this one.” Sniper rambled, almost complaining about who in their right mind wants to wear a three piece suit in their freetime before realising Spy does that.

“ _You_ chose it?” Spy asked, still calm and collected while the Australian almost jumped out of his seat.

“Miss Pauling chose it! I meant: that’s why Miss Pauling chose it.” He replied quickly, shaking the table as he accidentally hit his leg. He suppressed a groan of pain and changed the topic.

“So anyways, I guess we should try to enjoy ourselves ‘till she arrives. You can order whatever you’d like. I mean, ‘course you can, but I’m going to pay for you tonight. I got some money from the bank earlier an’ as long as you don’t order all the wine they own we should be fine. Really, just get whatever.”

Spy frowned. “So this is what all of this is about.” He mumbled so quietly Sniper almost couldn’t hear him. “This is why your clothes look less of a mess than usual. Still terrible, but… _eh, bien._ ”

Sniper had a bad feeling in his stomach as Spy was mumbling to himself. It dawned on him that his plan wasn’t going as well as he had wished for. He might have to change his plans a bit.

Sniper cleared his throat. “Look, S- Gérard, I wanted to apologise to you. I was going to do this after we ate but I can see that ‘yer not havin’ a great time. I wanted to apologise for bein’ an ass who kept lying to you and still gettin’ upset when you didn’t share any information regarding the mission with me.

“I wanted to show you the nice side of Australia. I know you hate bein’ here and honestly I can somewhat understand. I thought about it and, bloody hell, I’d hate to be dragged to France and be forced to live with you - no offense.

“There’s this strange pride or somethin’ that makes me feel personally obliged to try to convince you that Australia isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. I already messed up big time so I thought I was gonna take my chances and try one last time to make things right.” Sniper finished and took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to talking this much in one go.

He had avoided to look Spy in the eyes while he talked, letting his head hang down from shame as he confessed his sincere feelings towards this whole situation. Now he looked up to see the Frenchman looking straight at him with an unreadable expression.

“You were right about one singular thing tonight.” Spy said, calmly. It was unsettling to Sniper. “Miss Pauling isn’t here yet. That is correct. I talked to her this morning and she is still in Texas, trying to get her passport so she can fly over to this miserable continent.”

“Ah,” Sniper’s mouth fell open. Damn! How did he not think of that…?

“Actually there is another thing you were right about: you are a lying asshole. An imbecile who lied to me so he could drag me into some middle-class restaurant and force me to listen to your pathetic excuse for lying. Congratulations, you’ve done more wrong than I could have ever imagined was even possible. It’s almost impressive how stupid you are.”

Sniper felt like he was getting choked. His throat was dry and he couldn’t breathe. He had started sweating some time ago, it was awful. This really wasn’t how he had planned this out at all.

“Look, Gérard, this- this isn’t what I was trying to do tonight, I just wanted to spend a nice dinner with you and… I feel terrible for crashing at the house even though I’m not even s’pposed to be there and you didn’t throw me out so I was just bein’ ungrateful,” he coughed lightly, “I’m jus’ tryin’ to get back at ya’. ‘Else I would be forever in your debt”

“You’re trying to make up for all all of this by inviting me to a steakhouse - out of all places - without asking me?” Spy was getting impatient, almost seething with anger now.

“Yes! It’s really expensive here, and the steaks are top notch! I thought you’d like it!” Sniper pointed at the prices in the menu, trying to prove his point. “And you would have never agreed to come with me if I hadn’t lied to you!” Spy rolled his eyes.

“You’re right. Because I’m a pescetarian.”

Oh.

Sniper had heard that word before, a long time ago. But what did it mean again? Pescetarian…

“Is that some sort of… French religion?” He stuttered out, dumbfounded.

Spy got up, grabbing his jacket. “That’s it - I might run into the danger of getting contaminated with your stupidity if I stay here any longer. There’s no point in… any of _this._ ”

Sniper could only watch as Spy bolted out of the restaurant, leaving him behind alone at the table. Their argument had drawn attention of other people trying to enjoy their meal and led to everyone staring at the very embarrassed Australian who sat there in shock. After a bit he got up, got his leg caught in a chair, fell down, got up again and tried to walk out of the building as fast as he could, feeling his leg bruising already.

So much for visiting his favorite restaurant in the world. He was never going to be able to show his face around here again.

He ran past the bouncer who was thankfully busy with some other guests at the moment and went to the parking space, hoping to find the Frenchman there. He looked for his car for a while, walking up and down the parking lot, before he had to give up.

Spy had left without him - again.

Sniper hurried down the street, running the first few minutes on foot before he remembered he had money on him and called a cab over to get him home faster. The taxi driver didn’t ask any questions and Sniper was thankful of that. He was dropped off not much later at the familiar driveway spotting the familiar fancy sports car parked on it.

Spy must be inside. He hadn’t left completely yet. There was still time for Sniper to go and talk to him. No stupid plan this time, no stupid lying and no stupid surprise dinner.

He knocked at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof another cliffhanger


	8. Chapter 8

Sniper waited outside the door. His head hurt, his feet hurt, his leg hurt and somehow his heart hurt too - even if he would never admit that. Everything that had happened this evening felt like a huge blur of bad feelings and a string of terrible decisions.

The lights in the kitchen were on so Spy had to be inside somewhere. He knocked and continued waiting. He finally heard footsteps coming from within and was faced with an annoyed Spy opening the door just a small crack wide.

“You have a key.” He said, not even bothering to greet him, “or did you lose it somewhere? Don’t tell me you did.” He added.

“Uh,”

“You know what? Just come in. I don’t want to know.” Spy turned around and made his way to the kitchen before the Australian could even reply. Sniper was as quiet as he could as he walked in a few steps and closed the door behind him. He stood still in the entrance area, unsure of what exactly to do. There was some noise in the kitchen, meaning Spy must be there.

Sniper took off his shoes and made his way over with soft steps. He peeked into the room carefully, holding his breath.

Spy was wearing an apron, shuffling pots and pans around while an assortment of ingredients, a bottle of wine and a glass were standing on top of the kitchen counter. He either ignored Sniper or didn’t hear him come into the room.

“What are you doing?” Sniper asked and Spy turned around, looking like he was caught off-guard for a moment before frowning again.

“Food. Your stupid stunt left me without the opportunity to get something to eat.” He turned his back to him again, placing a pan on the stove and picking out some ingredients.

Sniper watched him. He watched as Spy swiftly picked out some onions and garlic, pulling out a knife and slicing it with the sort of efficiency and preciseness that was mesmerizing to watch. The two horizontal and two vertical slices left the onion chopped into evenly-sized cube shaped pieces. He moved onto crushing the garlic with the flat side of the knife before rocking the knife up and down across the clove, leaving it in fine pieces. It looked like he did this every day and the smoothness of his movements captivated Sniper.

“Can I… help?” Sniper asked before he knew the word left his mouth. It was his reflex to ask if someone needed help with cooking, as he had always helped out his mum back then.

Spy stopped chopping for a second, looking down at the kitchen counter. He didn’t reply for a long time and Sniper thought he was just going to get ignored until he finally left forever. But just as he thought of leaving the kitchen and packing his things, Spy replied.

“Wash the aubergine, zucchini, bell pepper and tomatoes under warm water. If you know how then you can start slicing them into bite-sized pieces, except the zucchini. It should be cut into thin slices.” Spy requested and went back to work on the garlic.

Sniper’s breath stopped from surprise and… joy. He stepped next to Spy, happy that he tolerated his presence. The chance that he will stab him in the back still exists, of course, but after everything that had happened it would be appropriate. No, actually, killing someone still went a bit too far..

Sniper stopped thinking about the possibility of being murdered and started washing the vegetables under running water. Spy looked over, “is the water warm?” he asked.

“Uhm, I think it is warm enough, yes.” Sniper replied, a bit unsure. “Do you wanna check to make sure?”

Spy looked away again, placing the onions and garlic into the pan, sizzling as they hit the hot oil inside. “ _Non_. I will have to trust you on this.”

Ah, of course - he was wearing his gloves. Sniper swallowed, nervosity overtaking him once again. He hoped that Spy wasn’t thinking that he was trying to trick him into taking them off.

“So, uh, ya’ said you’re a pescetarian or somethin’?” He changed the topic cautiously.

“Correct. And judging from your reply you do not know what it means.” He stirred the contents of the pan with a spatula, his voice even and low.

Sniper was done with washing the veggies, grabbing another cutting board and placing the zucchini on top. “Yeah, I dunno. Sorry. Can ya’ hand me a knife for the veggies?”

Spy opened the drawer next to him with one hand while he was still stirring the pan with the other. “Here,” he handed Sniper a knife, “you know what a vegetarian is? A pescetarian is someone who doesn’t eat meat, just like a vegetarian, but still eats fish and other seafood.” He put the stove down to a low temperature and took a sip of the wineglass. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

“How am I s’pposed to know when ya’ never ate together with us at the table? Back when we worked for RED, I mean.” The Australian cut the zucchini and Spy groaned when he looked over.

“You are slicing these way too thick! Cut them thinner. And I meant not knowing what a pescetarian is, not me being one. Idiot.” He clarified.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I don’t know as much as you do. Would’ve been a treat if ya’ told me instead of just leavin’. You can’t just expect everyone to know everythin’ and then get yer’ panties in a twist if they don’t. Uh, you do know what that means, right? The panties thing, it’s-”

“It’s an idiom, I know. Now let me show you how to cut the aubergine before you mess everything up.” Spy scooted over to the Australian, shoving him slightly to the side. He proceeded to show him step by step how to cube the eggplant perfectly.

“It needs to be evenly sized pieces or else they are going to cook at different speeds, leaving some parts rubbery while others will start to burn.” He explained while Sniper was watching eagerly, trying to take in as much knowledge as he could so his skills would be sufficient. He didn’t want to disappoint the Frenchman. No more than he already did.

Sniper cleared his throat. “Ya’ know, I… I do know how to cook, actually. You probably don’t believe me but I know one or two things about cookin’ - I do appreciate you showin’ me, though. I gotta say, your skills with knives exceed my expectations. I thought you were just good at stabbin’ people in the back.” He rambled, regretting saying anything at all, as it came out very wrong.

“I suppose that was a compliment?” Spy raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. What I wanted to say was: you’re good. Good at cuttin’ - _cooking_ , I mean, bloody hell.”

Spy, against all odds, stifled a laugh and smirked. “I’m good at both.”

Sniper’s face cracked into a smile. Spy had… laughed? Well, not exactly laughed, but for the first time Sniper had seen genuine, non-menacing joy from the French mercenary. And that made him happy.

He wanted to see more of it.

“By the way, I didn’t know we had an apron. Looks, uh, professional on you.” Sniper commented casually as he started slicing the eggplant up.

“Professional? _Mon dieu_ , you really have a way with words. A way of messing them up, that is.” Spy had stopped smiling but his tone was light and playful, not trying to offend.

“Yeah, my profession is more shootin’ than talkin’, really. Could really use more practice in the talkin’ part of things.”

“And the cutting part. Again, you’re doing it wrong. Let me show you once more.” Spy took the knife out of Sniper’s hand, the latter being slightly startled at the sudden contact. “If you don’t hurry the onions and garlic will be burned to dust before you add the other ingredients.”

Sniper watched the swift movements for a moment. “That reminds me, what are we even makin’? What recipe is this?” He overlooked the ingredients again: eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes,... could be anything, really. Anything without meat, at least.

“Ratatouille. A French dish that is easy and quick. Perfect for coming home from a ruined evening dinner.” He smirked and took a sip of his wine. “I recommend it to you. You could make use of it, I imagine.”

Sniper scoffed. “What is that s’pposed to mean now? I don’t have a lot of dates that go wrong or anythin’.”

“Oh?” Spy continued to grin, voice teasing. “Is that so? Let me guess why: because you don’t go on any dates at all.”

“I’m just too busy.” Sniper mumbled, a bit embarrassed. Maybe he had liked it better before, when Spy had ignored him.

“Well, I suppose that is fine. I mean, at our age we should be settled in already, comfortable living in a nice home with a wife and kid. Too bad you live in a van.” He snickered.

“Now wait a minute here, what do you mean ‘at our age’? Ya’ can’t tell me you’re only pushin’ 30 with those strands of gray hair sprouting from your head.”

Spy stopped laughing. His eyes went wide and he almost dropped the glass in his hands. “Wait, how- how old are you, exactly?” He asked after he put the glass onto the counter as a safety measure .

“29. Gonna turn 30 later this year though.” Sniper mumbled. He knew why Spy reacted like that. Everyone always had the same reaction.

“Mon Dieu, you’re- you’re…”

“Not as old as I look like, yes, heard that one before.” Sniper sighed and put the vegetables into the pan, stirring it.

Spy put a hand against his forehead, leaning against the counter. His face was in an expression of pure distress. “29… and I thought you were around my age.”

“Hey now, I don’t look that old, alright? I mean you’re probably a fossil, like, 50 or somethin’, right?”

Spy picked up the glass of wine and finished it in one go, “43.” He coughed a bit and groaned. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Sniper looked over the counter to spot the already half-empty wine bottle. “I think you’ve had enough already. Drinkin’ on an empty stomach is miserable and it’s gonna ruin ya’ in no time.”

“Yeah, it is miserable. You should try it.” Spy said and swiftly grabbed another wine glass, filling the new one and his up. “Cheers to stupid revelations we had about each other tonight.”

Sniper took the glass with a frown. “Nah mate, wine don’t suit me. I’m not much of a drinker anyways. Got my aim to worry about.” He swirled the wine around and looked at it with doubt.

“Your aim? Your rifle is still back in Texas and there isn’t even as much as a pistol around here! The only thing you should worry about tonight is how you messed everything up and how you fooled me thinking we were of equal age. All this… damn time.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to fool nobody. The thing is, the harsh sun of the outback just made my skin age faster I guess. It’s nothin’ I worry about personally, although it is annoyin’ when people-”

“Ugh, just shut up and drink.” Spy interrupted him, downing his own glass of wine. “Now let’s get back to cooking before I throw up.”

“Yeah sure, let’s.” Sniper replied and nipped on the wine.

It was bitter and dry.

* * *

 

The ratatouille was done in no time, Spy hadn’t lied about that. He had opened a second bottle of wine while cooking because the first one ran empty too quickly. Spy had figured out how to turn on the music system in the living room and put on some light jazzy tunes. It was the first time that they both had sat down at the table and ate together. Sniper praised the food as much as he could without annoying the French home cook.

Who was, by now, completely intoxicated.

“See? Now this is how you do it. This is how you cook a supreme meal without having to use any animal components. It is excellent, cooked by me. An excellent rendition of ratatouille.” Spy pointed his fork to Sniper who was sitting across of him. Spy had taken off his jacket by now and his face was flushed red from the alcohol. His hair was unusually messy with some strands coming loose and he had ditched his tie a while ago.

“Yes, it’s excellent. Sure is. Y’know, I would describe any free food as excellent but that’s besides the point.” Sniper chewed a particular rubbery part of eggplant. They had messed up the timing after all but he wasn’t going to be a critic.

Spy scoffed. “You’re not drinking enough! You can’t tell me that this high-class French import isn’t sufficient enough for your pathetic Australian taste buds!” he got loud, visibly upset at the fact that Sniper hadn’t completely lost control of himself yet - unlike him.

“Eh, I just don’t like the taste of wine in general.” Sniper went along. There’s no use in getting upset at Spy yelling since he wasn’t acting like his usual self.

“How rude. Just as expected from an Australian imbecile as yourself, you cannot even appreciate my generous gesture of sharing my favorite drink with you,” his French accent got so strong Sniper had to concentrate on his words, “you- you... imbecile.”

“You already said that one, mate. Are ya’ running out of bad words to call me?” Sniper laughed. The Frenchman was so out of himself, it was hilarious. Sniper had never seen this emotional side of the stuck-up mysterious lady killer before and he really enjoyed it. Maybe the wine was getting to his head as well.

They finished another bottle together.

“Hey, slow down, maybe you shouldn’t open another one.” Sniper tried to stop the swaying spy but the sound of the cork coming undone proved that he was too late.

“If you think that you can tell me what to do then you are thinking wrong. But hey, it’s a miracle that you even have the capabilities to think, being from around here and all.” Spy continued his rant and poured himself another glass, against all protests. “So cheers on that!”

“This better be your last one. You can hardly stand upright anymore.” Sniper snatched the bottle from Spy, holding it out of his reach.

Spy shoved him lightly, careful so he won’t spill wine everywhere. He couldn’t reach all the way up to Sniper’s long arms and angrily gave up, pouting. “You better put that bottle down right now. It’s not yours. You didn’t pay for it. You’re a freeloading piece of shit, after all.”

“Yeah right, whatever. Not my fault if you end up throwin’ your guts out tonight.” Sniper put the bottle down again. It immediately became uninteresting to Spy now that it was in his reach again.

“You should really try this one,” he elbowed Sniper slightly, “it’s even better than the last one. Or else I will drink all of it myself and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Spy… threatened him.

Sniper was confused. Spy had been all over the place tonight; laughing, ranting, yelling, playing with his words, stumbling over simple sentences and at the same time making smooth comments about the most complex things. But no matter what words he had said in the past couple of hours, they all had one thing in common: they hadn’t meant to be hateful towards Sniper. Even if he called him an imbecile for the sixth time. They all had a particular light undertone to them that Sniper was so unused to. An undertone that confirmed that Spy didn’t mean those words anymore. They were having fun together.

They were teasing each other. Like friends.

“Ey, spook.” He grabbed his attention. “I don’t think ya’ hate me as much as you want me to think ya’ do. I don’t hate ya’ either, ya’ know.”

Spy made a confused noise in the back of his throat. “ _Excusez-moi?_ ”

Oh no, this really wasn’t a good time for a talk like this but he couldn’t back down now. “You know, uh, you keep spoutin’ those bad words at me but I don’t think you really mean it.” He scratched his head, trying to think of more arguments to prove his point. “And you never bloody threw me out of the house. Ya’ could’ve just done that from the very start, but ya’ never did. Ya’ didn’t have to invite me back in and cook with me and you definitely don’t hafta share your wine with me. But you are, you’re bloody insisting on it.”

Now Sniper was the one rambling emotional drunk words and getting agitated. Spy stood still like a deer caught in the headlights while listening to him talk.

“I don’t think you hate me and I think you just wanna make me think you do because you don’t wanna confess that you don’t.” He slurred out and immediately regretted saying it the way he did. Spy was right, he really did have a way with words. A way to mess them up.

Spy looked at him like he just talked in a foreign language. It was silent, safe for the slow-paced song playing from the speakers in the living room.

“I… don’t,”

Sniper flushed red and quickly interrupted Spy. “Forget it! Forget what I just said, really, my bad. I just completely ruined the mood, bloody hell. Should- Should drink more of this amazin’ wine before you drink it all, haha.” He struggled to pour the liquid into his glass, his hands shaking like crazy.

Spy put his hands on top of his for a second before he took away the glass. “I think we both had enough for tonight.”

Sniper let him take the glass without protest. He didn’t know what to say so he just agreed in silence. He was nervously chewing the inside of his mouth. Had he messed up yet again? This time not by lying but by being too honest?

Spy took care of the dishes they had used tonight without another word and put the open wine bottle in the fridge. He looked like he was lost in thoughts, solemnly drying off a plate while Sniper stood a few feet away, unmoving.

The tension from before was back and he hated it.

“Ugh,” Spy suddenly groaned and put his head in his hands, “I drank too much. I’m heading to bed.” He put down the towel and stumbled slowly towards the staircase.

He stopped walking when he reached the first step. “You know,” he started, “I know you did all of this as some sort of messed up apology to apologise for messing up. And you did - you did apologise, in your weird crazy bushman way. But you didn’t do so by inviting me to that awful steak house place, no, you did it by helping me cook something I decided I wanted.

“You apologised by spending the evening with me in a way I personally prefer it. So I hereby accept your apology. And I just wanted to say that I am sorry, too.” He disappeared into the bedroom upstairs.

Sniper’s heart stopped for a second. Had Spy just apologized to him? He wasn’t sure what exactly he apologized for, as his vague answer left a lot of questions open, but still - Spy being honest and apologizing to him meant a lot. It was progress in trying to get along and being able to finish this mission together. Sniper was still part of it, even if it wasn’t in the original plan by Miss Pauling. Because Spy had allowed - wanted - him to stay.

Sniper turned off the music and let himself fall onto the couch. He didn’t mind sleeping on it tonight at all. He had a good feeling about tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Spiders

The next morning in the Australian neighbourhood was relatively cool, despite the sun already creeping high on the sky as the clock read an early 8am. Spy was dressed neatly, without any crooked folds in his shirt and jacket, hair combed back and lying flat, no strand out of place. Maybe he was overdressed for the ruthless Australian weather. Maybe he was overdressed for Australia just in general, but that didn’t stop him from looking his best.

Even after a long night of drinking.

He wasn’t suffering from a hangover. It surprised him slightly, as he had been way over his own limit he knew very well. He hadn’t even managed to finish cleaning the kitchen yesterday night due to an overwhelming wave of nausea. It was back to it’s spotless glory now, after he had been scrubbing plates and pans all morning.

Spy was reading today’s issue of ridiculous Australian newspaper (called ‘Australia’s Awesome Announcements’) as a disheveled Sniper stomped into the kitchen. He did not bother to mutter a ‘good morning’ as he passed Spy and went straight to the cupboards, swiftly opening them with way too much vigor. The hinges of the cupboards squeaked in protest and the Frenchman looked up in annoyance.

Sniper’s hat was missing, leaving his tousled hair exposed. His face looked almost skewed in place with dried drool specked on the corners of his mouth. At least he was decently covered up, dressed with his usual ragged pants and shirt. Spy noticed that the dark circles under his eyes were a darker shade than usual.

Sniper was searching for something in the kitchen cupboards, jumping from one to another, quickly scanning the contents. Spy rolled his eyes and went back to reading an article about crazy Australians breaking the world record of peeling the most bananas in under a minute.

At last, Sniper opened the fridge, scanned the interior quickly and closed the cooling device with an audible thump. “Bloody hell, my head’s been killin’ me and now my breakfast is gone, too. Did you - did you eat the last of my kangaroo jerky?”

“I did not.” Spy replied without hesitation, not looking up from the newspaper.

Sniper turned around and pointed his index finger at the reading Frenchman. “Yeah yeah, and then what do you reckon happened with it? I know you must have took it! Don’t try to blame it on some possum - this house is snitchin’ animal safe!” 

Spy rolled his eyes again. “Calm down, bushman. I did not eat whatever item you’re referring to. And here I thought we talked about the definition of ‘pescetarian’ yesterday evening.”

“Right.” Sniper mumbled and squinted his eyes. He foggily remembered what happened yesterday. “So you didn’t eat my kangaroo jerky, huh. Ah, bloody hell, it was one of the best ones you can get, a delicacy around here. What do you think happened to it, then?” Sniper crossed his arms and leaned against the fridge, face red and hair still all over the place.

“I repeat: I did not eat it.” Spy folded the newspaper neatly and placed it on the table. “But if you are referring to the foul smelling shit-colored pieces of grub then... yes, I indeed got rid of that.”

Sniper’s mouth hung wide open. "Yer kidding me, right? You just threw it out? In the trash?” He swung both of his hands up to hold his head, displaying utter disbelief. 

“Hm, yesterday evening. It was racking up a displeasing smell of cheap barbeque and something close to decaying roadkill. I wanted to avoid the kitchen smelling like an animal met its inevitable end in here,” he calmly stated and took a sip of his morning coffee, “my utmost apologies for not recognising this local delicacy, as you called it. Looks like I still have much to learn in the way of the bushman.”

“No, that’s… that stuff’s really expensive, you know! I planned to eat it for breakfast today. And, ah, damn it.” Sniper gave up and just went to pull down his hat before he noticed that he forgot to even put it on. Damned be the spook.

He stood there awkwardly, trying to salvage this rather terrible morning start by striking up any kind of pleasant conversation with his past teammate. Yesterday evening had been… fun. He wanted to take that as an advantage and keep going with the same kind of flow. He wasn’t going to let everything be ruined by his hangover and he was not going to let the Spy see him upset over this.

“So, uh, how’s your head this morning? Did the wine take its revenge on you yet?” He asked curiously.

“I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” Replied Spy as he continued to stir his coffee.

Sniper sighed. At least that makes one of them. He grabbed some milk from the fridge and took a swig. He knew the Spy did not approve of drinking directly from the jug but he couldn't care less right now. “Oi, Spook,” he started after his dizziness calmed down, “remember the time Scout ate Medic’s cheesecake and got seriously messed up?”

Spy looked up and placed his coffee on the table. "Apple cake. A German speciality which, unlike Australian food, actually tastes good. And yes, I remember that day fondly. It was one of the more pleasant days of my employment at RED.” A satisfied grin crept onto his face. Sniper took that as a good sign and went on.

“Medic was so furious I honestly thought he was about to burn the whole bloody place down. ‘Course no one confessed who took his damn cake, that woulda been death sentence for sure.”

“Death would have been the pleasant option. This man knows no boundaries when it comes to inflicting pain to people.” Spy interfered.

“Ya, and that’s exactly what happened the second time. Puttin’ up that delicious looking slice of cooked perfection in the kitchen just to lace it with poison and catch the culprit literally throwing his guts up, that’s the work of the devil himself, I tell ya’. ‘Course Scout had it miles coming for him. Everyone knows not to screw with the team’s quack doctor outta all people.”

Spy let out a low laugh. “Well, Scout did have the option to confess his act of felony and beg for the antidote from the doctor, surely facing his wrath afterwards. But he knew the slow painful poison was probably the lesser of the two evil.”

Sniper finished his calcium rich drink and put it back in the fridge. He was glad that the good mood from yesterday was still present and that they were able to talk without tension. Maybe things will be better between them from now on. All it took was a little bit of way too much wine.

Sniper shivered. “Damn, that poison stuff though. Really makes me wonder what I would’ve done. Shit was so painful the boy was cryin’ for momma for hours when it kicked in. He kept asking everyone but the doc for some remedy. Must’ve been the real nasty stuff.”

“It sure was. After all, I recommended it to Medic myself.” Spy added.

Sniper turned around. “Wait, yer… knew about the poison?”

“I sure did.”

“...And you also knew the antidote for it, then?”

Spy finished his coffee and got up to place the empty mug in the sink, a wide grin on his face as he passed Sniper. 

“I sure did.” He cleaned out his mug. “Now go and get washed up. You look worse than usual, and that is by itself some sort of accomplishment. Not one to be proud of, however.”

Sniper wasn’t even mad about that remark. He felt terrible so he probably looked terrible, too. “You leavin’ for some mission stuff soon?” He asked before heading to the bathroom, scared that Spy will be gone by the time he got back.

“Hm. As a matter of fact, no. Not anymore. There’s no more leads for the mission at the moment.” Spy looked troubled, not sure how much information to spill. “Once you’re done in the bathroom come up to my room. I guess we need to talk.” He left, heading to the master bedroom.

Sniper was… worried, to say the least. It sounded like things were not going according to Miss Pauling’s plan. He sighed and entered the bathroom. He had other things to worry about first: his face.

Well, more exactly the things that were stuck to his face: some hair and dried saliva, a huge red blotch from the pillow he slept on and, annoyingly, some unruly stubble that had fought its way through. How did his stupid stubble always come back so fast yet he never managed to grow a proper mustache?

He started by washing his face with water as cold as he can get and drying it off with a fresh towel to get rid of the red blotch on his face. He ended up with his entire face red and irritated instead but at least the dried saliva was gone.

Sniper looked around the bathroom, searching for his aftershave. There was more stuff lying around than usual: flasks, bottles of shampoo, several combs. Spy must have moved some stuff in this morning without Sniper noticing. He really had slept like a rock - a drunk, confused, messed up rock.

“More like a boulder, really…” He mumbled to himself while he went through the different flasks that were scattered around the commodes. Damn, Spy really had a thing for buying a lot of different… Whatever this all was. Sniper looked more closely, reading the label of one particular flask.

“ _Eau de… toilette?_ ” He read out loud, confused and startled.

Sniper’s knowledge of French was limited (or rather nonexistent) and the only world that resembled something he knew about was “toilette”. So, naturally, his next logical thing was pondering over the fact that Spy either collected water from a toilet in a flask or he was planning to clean the toilet with this thing.

Both seemed unreasonable. He wasn’t sure which one more so.

Sniper put the flask back to where he found it. This was certainly something that won’t leave his mind for a while.

He finished washing up as best as he could, shortly considering to use some of the fancy-looking products that Spy owned but he was too scared of being found out. He ended up looking like less of a hungover mess and just returned back to looking like a regular mess. Well, this was the best he could do without taking a shower. 

He mentally prepared himself to face whatever it was that Spy wanted to talk about and walked up the stairs two steps at a time. Without knocking he entered the room and was overwhelmed to see how much it had changed:

There was paper everywhere, the floor, the walls, even on the bed. The high tech computer setup that Sniper had seen the first time he had been in the room was now sitting on the floor. The full-body mirror was covered with a bed sheet and the curtains to the balcony were messily tied together. It had gone from looking like a freshly prepared hotel room to the aftermath of a hurricane.

Sniper almost stepped on a pile of (presumably unwashed) clothes as he walked into the room. “Bloody hell, you turned this room into a mess! What did you do with it?” He spotted some empty bottles in a corner of the room.

“I live in it. I sleep in it. It also serves as my office. It used to be the room I prepare myself in the mornings in, too but I moved the stuff over to the bathroom a few hours ago while you were soundly snoring through the whole house.” Spy was sitting on his desk, shuffling papers around.

“Yeah uh, great, I hope you didn’t turn it into your personal toilet as well, despite it lookin’ like one, ‘ya know.” Sniper commented and scanned the room further.

“Oh please, it’s only 9 a.m. in the morning and you’re already getting on my nerves. I have a lot of work to do and no time for cleaning, that’s all. Are we done with this topic now?” Spy spoke through gritted teeth, obviously not happy with the fact that Sniper dared to judge him.

“Yeah, uh, sure. Actually, there’s one more thing. I saw some stuff of yours in the bathroom - actually, nevermind. Not important.” Sniper cleared his throat. It probably wasn’t a good idea to talk about this while Spy was already irritated.

“There are a lot of things you have said to me that were not important. So why stop now? Finally learned how to keep your mouth shut?” Spy rolled his eyes. He was still sitting on the chair while Sniper awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, not sure if he was allowed to sit down on the stacks of paper that covered the couch.

“I can see you’re not in a rosy mood. ‘Don’t wanna annoy you.”

Spy leaned forward and held up his finger, ready to argue but instead he backed down and sighed. “Yes. I guess you are correct. Things aren’t looking good right now.” He turned around again, picking up a sheet of paper from the desk. Sniper took it from him.

It was a fax message signed by Miss Pauling. Before Sniper had the time to read through it, Spy started explaining.

“Miss Pauling won’t make it here on time. The schedule is going to be delayed by a whole week. A whole seven days of uncertainty - no new information, no new work, a whole week of my life wasted here, doing nothing.” He got up and snatched the paper out of Sniper’s hand, crumbling it up and walking around the room, frustrated. He threw the paper at the overflowing paper bin and missed.

“So what you’re tellin’ me is that you’re upset ‘cuz you get some time off? Huh?” Sniper was perplexed about the harsh reaction of the Frenchman. Wasn’t time off something nice once in a while?

Spy turned towards him, face grim. “Any time I have to spend on this terrible pile of dirt you call ‘Australia’ is time I would rather be… “ Spy stopped. They both knew what he was going to say but once again, he had managed to hold himself back. 

He sat down on his bed. A few things fell down in the progress. Spy, too demotivated, didn’t even look to see what had fallen. “I don’t like wasting time doing nothing. I want this to be over with as quickly as possible.”

Sniper let out a low hum. Spy had a tone to his voice that he rarely ever showed: defeat. He sounded truly, utterly defeated and exhausted. Normally he would just be upset and direct his anger towards Sniper but now he kept holding himself back and showed how he truly felt. It was unusual and it brought up a twisted kind of worry in Sniper.

Something must have happened last night that changed Spy’s opinion of the Australian. Something that had turned his view of Sniper into an actual person and not just an outlet for his never-ending antagonism towards the continent.

Sniper just didn’t know what exactly had caused this sudden change of heart. And he had a feeling in his gut that it wasn’t the right time to ask about it. Maybe with time they could talk.

“Well, uh, at least now you’ve got plenty of time to tidy up this room.” He changed the topic. “That’s one positive thing at least.”

Spy’s expression changed - not to something more pleasant. “Oh, of course. For the next seven days I will do nothing but clean this room that I preferably will never see again in a week or two. I can’t imagine doing anything-” he realised that he was being an ass again and tried to calm himself, “... anything better in my time.”

Sniper tried not to get upset but it was rather difficult when Spy, a grown man, acted like a little child who didn’t get what he wanted. “Look - it ain’t my job to tell you what you can do with your time. Imma just go and do some stuff ‘cuz I actually got plans.” He turned around, towards the door. While he was walking out the room he expected some kind of reply - a sarcastic comment or similar from the Frenchman, but received nothing. No acknowledgement of any kind.

the worry inside his gut grew stronger.

* * *

The moon shone bright in the sky and a cold wind rustled the leaves that surrounded the street as Sniper made his way back home. It was unusually cold and the breeze sent a shiver up his spine. He had been sweating in the midday sun, walking several miles to reach his goals, and now he was freezing as he made the final few steps. In a way he was thankful for the cooling air, as it helped clear his head a little but he at the same time he was scared of catching a cold or worse.

The house he currently called his home came into view and Sniper briefly wondered what their neighbours must think of them. Two guys, living under the same last name, moving into a nice home like this and never even introducing themselves to their neighbours. Maybe they should give them a ring this week as they are staying here longer than planned for after all. Maybe he could convince Spy to bake something together to give out as a present. Maybe…

He unlocked the door with his key. This time he had made sure to grab it out of fear that Spy refused to open the door and was going to leave him to sleep on the porch for real one day. Especially considering the bad mood he had been in earlier, the possibility didn’t seem too unlikely.

The lock clicked into place and Sniper waltzed right into the living room, not taking off his shoes despite Spy constantly nagging him to do so. The lights outside the house were turned off and the car parked in front, which meant that Spy was probably already asleep and won’t catch him walking around the house with shoes on.

Sniper let himself fall onto the couch. He was truly exhausted and stretched his limbs in odd angles, feeling a wave of release once the joints popped. He had made several trips to the gas station and back, carrying heavy canisters full of gas and now his back and feet hurt. Maybe he not only looked like age 40, but also felt like it on some days.

He had finally started to relax a bit, hands folded over his stomach, when he heard a piercing scream echoing through the house. His eyes snapped open - it was Spy.

He almost fell off the couch, trying to get up as quickly as possible. He made a dash up the stairs, leaping two steps at a time, his boots making loud stomping noise as he eagerly made his way to the bedroom door. 

Sniper threw the door open (good thing it wasn’t locked), turned on the ceiling light and scanned the room for Spy, who he found to be standing on top of a chair, face pale and cowering with his hands over his head. He was wearing a silken pajama set and pointed to the corner of the room opposite of him.

“ _Y a un monstre qui rampe dans cette pièce! Un monstre, je te dis!_ ” Spy screeched in panic, pointing more aggressively to the corner, directing Sniper’s attention towards it.

“Spy, what’s wrong? What’s in there?” Sniper replied, not having understood one word. He got closer to the corner, sweat forming on his forehead. What in the world could cause the French Assassin to cower in raw fear?

“Je - I said there’s a monster! Don’t get close!” Spy stood up straight on the chair, touching the wall for support so he doesn’t fall down. His panic became bigger the closer Sniper got to the unholy corner. Sniper’s heart beat way too fast, the panic of the Frenchman was contagious.

“C’mon Spy, get a grip of yourself. There’s no such things as-” and then he saw it move. Flashing quickly by his feet, it made its way onto the wall, stopping for just a moment before it crawled behind the mirror. Spy was screaming again. 

Sniper knew what they were dealing with.

He took a few steps away from the mirror, letting a sigh of relief out. “That - that ain’t no monster, it’s an Australian huntsman spider. Spy, bloody hell, you gave me a good scare here. Just- bloody hell.” Sniper tried to let the tension in his body loose. He groaned. It wasn’t a monster, just a spider. He had dealt with lots of these in the past.

“It’s so huge and fast a-and gross! This is the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life!” Spy yelled, still shaken very badly by the situation. “Australia truly is the worst!”

“Now shut up for a moment, you’re gonna let the neighbours think someone’s gettin’ murdered in here with all that screamin’ of yours. Good thing I got my boots on, I’m gonna put a quick end to this.” Sniper readied himself, now approaching the mirror with newfound confidence.

“You’re going to squash it?” Spy got off the chair and quickly made his way to the corner of the room furthest away from the mirror, clenching his chest in horror. “Wait, you still have your boots on?!” He added with further shock. “Why are you taking your boot off now?” Spy was hysterical while Sniper clumsily took one of his boots off.

“I’m gonna use it as a weapon. Can’t expect me to be able to kick the ceiling, right? Imma move the mirror slightly and then strike.” He explained his plan as he moved closer to the hideout of the unwanted guest, tapping it slightly with his hand.

He tapped it a second time with more vigor, almost making the mirror topple over. It was in that moment that the creature tried to flee its fate, crawling upwards quickly, moving onto the ceiling. Sniper took aim and threw his boot as hard as he could muster. And it missed, hitting the ceiling far from the spider, leaving a dirty sport behind before it came crashing down onto the bed. All while Spy screamed.

The spider crawled down on the other wall and back onto the floor again at an incredible speed, headed in the direction of its attempted assassin - Sniper. The Australian didn’t think long about it and stomped down using the foot that still had a boot on. Despite its size, the spider never truly stood a chance.

Spy’s screaming had finally stopped and it was weirdly quiet as he lifted his foot to reveal the aftermatch. It wasn’t pretty and would definitely leave an unpleasant stain on the carpet. Sniper cleared his throat.

“Well, uhm, that takes care of that. No need to, uh, thank me.” He looked over to see that Spy’s face had lost all its color. He looked like he was going to throw up at any moment. 

Sniper took out the dead spider’s leftovers and also took his boot from the bed. Spy had just remained silent, sitting on an empty spot of his bed, staring into nothingness. Just as the Australian was about to leave he spoke up. “I’m not actually afraid of spiders. Just this one… it was nothing like I’ve ever seen before. And I only had the bedlight on when I saw its shadow on the wall. I’m not afraid of spiders.”

Sniper thought about what to reply. He thought about making fun out of the way Spy had screamed like a little girl, pointing out of the fact that he had been terrified and panicked and even called the spider a monster. But no, he wasn’t going to.

“Yeah it’s… it’s alright. I believe ‘ya. Good night now.” He finally answered and walked out the room, switching off the lights and closing the door behind him. He was looking forward to closing his eyes and catching some sleep after all that commotion.

Sniper had big plans for tomorrow and he needed all the energy he could get. His thoughts drifted before falling asleep, wondering if Spy was going to get any sleep at all tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this might be sad

The house was quiet. No snoring, no sound of dishes being moved around in the kitchen, no distant radio blaring the annoying Australian morning news, no indication that Spy’s house-mate was anywhere inside at all.

Just how long had he slept in? It couldn’t be that late now, could it? Spy shuffled around in his bed, reaching for the inviswatch that was lying on the nightstand. Its small display read 9:28 a.m. It wasn’t that late into the day, no, but way later than Spy had usually gotten up.

Yesterday’s incident had left him with a troubled mind and had turned his sleep into a terrible combination of anxiety and hyper-awareness. He kept thinking that he had seen another shadow move along the wall and turned on the lights to scout his surroundings every time, unable to fall asleep until he made sure that he is the only living being inside his room.

The night had left him exhausted. He sighed as he looked up and glared at the huge dirty spot on the ceiling that came from Sniper’s extravagant late night boot-throw. What an ungraceful solution, just as expected from the bushman. And in the end he had just stepped onto the creature anyways.

Spy got up and quickly put on his last clean shirt and pants (maybe Sniper was right, he should tidy up) and went downstairs to the bathroom to get ready for the day. A day he had no plans for yet. But maybe that was about to change…

He saw a person sitting on the porch in front of the house, holding a rather pitiful bouquet of yellow flowers, with a duffle bag sitting next to them. The hat and long legs that shaped the silhouette of the figure gave away that it was Sniper who was loitering there, albeit Spy could not guess a reason for it.

The Australian perked up when the door behind him opened, visibly surprised by the sudden noise. “Have you finally managed to lock yourself out of the house, _monsieur?_ ” Spy teased. His voice sounded way more exhausted than he wished for.

“Oh, Spy, hell. You gave me a scare.” Sniper turned around to face Spy but remained seated on the porch. “Nah, I ain’t got myself locked out. I’m waitin’ for someone.” He turned around again, staring towards the end of the street.

Spy leaned against the wall. “A date?” He pondered.

“A date? Ah, ‘cuz of the roses?” Sniper looked at the bouquet in his hand. It was already starting to dry up. “Yeah, nah, these are for my ‘ma. I haven’t seen her in a long time and I know she loves all kinds of yellow flowers. Roses are hard to come by ‘round here but they are her favorites. Right after sunflowers, of course, it’s just gotta be yellow. My ‘pa doesn’t really see the point of picking flower because they’ll just end up dyin’ quickly-”

“Now, now, I just asked if you had a date, not about your degree in floristics. In retrospect it was a rather redundant question, my apologies for even considering that option.” Spy teased, an amusing grin forming on his face.

But Sniper did not react. His head hung low, staring at the brightly colored roses in his hand while clutching the wrapped up stalks firmly. Spy rolled his eyes and sat down next to him.

“So, are your parents coming over? Is that why you’re waiting here, somberly staring at the cars passing by?” Spy pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Sniper who declined by shaking his head.

“Nah. They don’t even know I’m in the country. Hell, they don’t even know if I’m still alive. I’ve been putting off callin’ them for so long that my heart’s filled with terrible guilt. I wanted to make up for it by droppin’ by for a visit so I went to the gas station and hired a guy to lend me his vehicle for a few days. He should have been here over an hour ago.” He groaned in frustration, putting his arms in the air and then letting his torso fall flat down on the porch so he was lying down.

“Ah, I see. Because you don’t have a car.” Spy exhaled some smoke. “Why didn’t you just buy one?”

“Because I don’t waste my money like you do.” Sniper replied. “I agreed to pay the guy half of it in advance. Hell, I’m a bloody idiot.” He added after a few moments of sulking in silence.

“Well, I must say that this is something I have to agree on. But hey, at least you are correct about one thing, so that is nice. Although we cannot ignore the fact that you thought it was a good idea to trust some stranger like that.” Spy’s tone was judging but stayed neutral otherwise. He was trying hard not to be too harsh on him, as Sniper seemed to be very disheartened.

“He’s not gonna show up now, is he.” Sniper asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“No, he’s not. You have successfully wasted your money on nothing, the one thing you wanted to avoid doing.” Spy put out his cigarette and looked over to Sniper. The Australian had his sunglasses on, covering half of his face, but Spy was still able to see his dreadful expression. This must be something really important to him. The way he had talked about his parents earlier…

Spy got up, straightening his shirt. “When are you ready to leave?”

“Huh?” Sniper sat up, startled. “Excuse me?”

Spy sighed. “I said: when, approximately, will you be ready to leave?”

Sniper’s mouth hung open. “Are you… giving me your car?”

“No. I am not letting you drive my car, not even for a single minute. I am, however, offering to come along with you on your stupid roadtrip to your parents so you can stop being a pathetic idiot about this and I can,...” He paused, thinking. “...So I can come along and make sure you are keeping your damn mouth shut about the mission.”

The Australian took off his hat and placed it over his chest. “You’re really offering me your help? That’s just, wow. I mean - I am very thankful of course but, just, why?”

Spy groaned. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

“Right,” Sniper said and got up, “I’m ready to leave.” A huge grin on his face.

“Great, I’m not. Give me a few minutes.” Spy walked back into the house, leaving Sniper with his new found joy behind. What in the world has he agreed upon…?

He first went upstairs and then into the kitchen to grab some stuff he would need for the road trip. He noticed a crumpled up paper lying on the kitchen table and took it in his hands. It was a handwritten note by Sniper, telling him that he was leaving for a few days and that he will return and how he wanted to tell him in person but he was still asleep and… 

Spy put the note in his back pocket and continued to scour for plenty of bottled water and food so that he would have one thing less to worry about when traveling through the Australian Outback. He might be bored and desperate to do something, but starving in the wilderness was no acceptable plan. Once he was satisfied with this rations he went outside to see Sniper moving some gas tanks close to the car.

“Is that diesel?” Spy asked as he opened the trunk of the car and put a six-pack of water bottles in.

“Huh? No, it’s petrol.”

“Good. Load them in. I’m glad to see you got some things prepared.” Spy commented as he was about to grab some more water from the kitchen.

“Well yeah, I travel around in my van a lot, remember?. Would be embarrassin’ to forget some of the essentials like ‘bring enough gas’. Not that it, uh, ever happened to me.” Sniper mumbled the last part as he heaved in a third canister into the trunk of the car. “This ought to do it.”

“Great. Now let’s get out of here before I realise how stupid this whole thing is.” Spy said and locked the front door of the house. They won’t be seeing it for a while. He was glad.

He went back to the car to see that Sniper had already seated himself in the passenger seat, clumsily fighting with a tattered old road map. “Please tell me you know what highway we have to get on.” Spy groaned as he sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, yeah, best route is taking the Mitchell Highway. My parent’s house is right on the border of Queensland. Should take around 10 hours if we can get out of Sydney without any complications. Traffic should be fine after we leave the city - no one really takes that route.”

Spy sighed at the mention of a 10 hour drive. He should have seen this coming, but it was still making his stomach turn. Of course it wasn’t simply visiting relatives next door, no, they were driving far out of anything you could possibly call civilization just to visit two old people.

“I got this map just to make sure. I drove from Sydney to my parent’s place a hundred times before. I marked all the stops, gas stations and other important stuff on the map. Just to make sure, right.”

Right. All Spy could hope for is surviving this trip unscathed.

Spy turned the key and the car sprung to life. As he drove in reverse, he saw the bouquet of roses in the reflection of the mirror lying on the row seat. _They_ were definitely not going to survive the next 10 hours, Spy thought and started driving.

* * *

Three hours later and it felt like they’ve already reached the edge of the world. Barren wasteland was pictured in the neverending slideshow displayed in the windshield. The searing hot sun shone down without any clouds to protect the wasteland from the heat so the hard-working AC in the car hummed without a pause. Spy had expected to see a lot more kangaroos than they had (zero) but he kept that particular thought to himself.

They had left Sydney rather quickly, thankfully not running into any traffic, and have been driving on the same straight highway for the past two hours without seeing anything other than orange dust and grainy ground. Even seeing other cars has become a rarity.

Sniper started to fumble with the car radio, trying to find a channel that didn’t make his French chauffeur go insane. The channel was either too loud, too Australian, a combination of both or the sound simply disintegrated into white noise the further they drove. Sniper finally settled on a classic channel that played only slightly distorted film music.

Another hour of wary silence later and they reached their first stop - a gas station run by a lanky old man who recognized Sniper after they had stepped into the small shop. Sniper bought himself a burger and a warm cup of coffee while Spy prefered to eat his proviant from back home. After some small unimportant conversation held with the owner of the gas station and a fill-up of the tank of the car, they were on the road again. After all, many hours of driving were still ahead of them.

“That old man… he knew you?” Spy asked once they had left the gas station. 

“Yeah, I always stop here when I’m around. He was surprised to see that I’m missin’ my van and got company. Not a bad bloke.”

Spy hummed and added nothing. The silence between them was rather welcome, as the last thing they needed was an argument right now. And arguments could only happened when they talked. So for now, they chose not to.

And yet their boredom was starting to chipper away an their nerves. Not even the occasional breaks seemed to ease their minds anymore, stretching your legs every other hour can only help so much. Sniper kept himself awake, even after Spy had commented about how he can go to sleep if he wanted to. Sniper told him he won’t. It would be unfair to do so, he said.

Just a few more hours, Spy thought as his hands gripping the steering wheel started to ache.

* * *

A huge road sign displaying the words ‘Queensland 100 miles up ahead’ made Sniper straighten up in his seat and adjusting his hat. After such a long time, they were finally going to arrive a their destination. He was excited. They were almost there. He was about to see his parents again who didn’t even know he was coming over.

He was nervous.

“I guess we are close then, no?” Spy asked as he glanced over to the bushman who was starting to sweat and only managed to nod. “Finally! Just tell me when I need to leave the highway.”

Sniper cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back. “Yeah, we’re almost there. Just around 10 minutes more. I’ll tell ‘ya when to get off the street.”

Spy started to slow the car down. “Alright. You don’t have to lie to your parents about the marriage thing. Just tell them I am a friend and I will try my best to behave as such. And you will keep your mouth shut about the current mission, got it? And furthermore: don’t call me ‘Spy’ in front of your parents. It’s Gérard, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Sniper let out a low laugh. “Nah, I haven’t forgotten, I just can’t pronounce it.”

“Then maybe you should just practise saying it more.” Spy said without really thinking, surprised at his own heartfelt suggestion. Sniper turned his head towards him, a faint shimmer of red on his skin.

“Well, uhm… Wait - that road’s our exit!” He hastily pointed to an upcoming dirt road that led off to the side of the highway. Spy barely even saw the path, as the sun had already started to set and daylight was getting dim.

The Frenchman didn’t take a liking to letting his polished and waxed sports car drive through the dirt but the thought of walking all the way to the house and getting his shoes dirty was even worse. So he slowly and carefully drove down the road, avoiding any huge rocks or potholes. The ground was uneven and the whole vehicle was shaking, despite the low travel speed.

At this point Spy was clenching his teeth, worried. They should have taken a jeep for this kind of travelling. If one of the tires rips they’re most likely done for. Or he would have to endure a 10 hour drive back together with Sniper’s parents, which at this point he’d rather walk.

Even with the shaky road, Sniper unbuckled himself and reached to the back of the car to grab the bouquet of partly-dried roses. As soon as he was seated again, flowers clutched in his hands, he tried to put the seat belt lock back on. Sniper struggled and missed the moment when his parent’s house was slowly showing up on the horizon and how Spy’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

It’s a bigger house than expected, was Spy’s first thought upon getting a clearer view. His second thought was how broken and badly maintained it looked, with wooden planks missing and the front door wide open. His third thought was simply ‘oh no’.

The seat belt next to him retracted back with a snap. Spy had barely even stopped the car when Sniper already opened the door, muttering ‘that ain’t right…’ as he stepped outside.

Something was wrong.

Sniper walked towards the house in a quick pace. He wasn’t running, no, as he couldn’t muster up the courage to do so. As much as he wanted to get closer he also wanted to stay away. He felt a paralyzing fear in his limbs as he had to physically drag himself to take one step after another, heading to the place in front.

His thoughts were racing yet his mind was blank. When was the last time he had actually talked to his parents? When had he received the last letter they sent him? Why had no one picked up when he had called them at the airport? Why could he not remember something so damn important?

Was this really the right place?

The floor creaked agonizingly beneath him as he stepped into the open door, an unpleasant smell of rotten wood and stagnant air hit his nose as he scanned the interior of the living room - or at least, what was left of it.

Broken furniture, splintered wood, shattered glass and dark patches of dirt littered the once lovely room where Sniper used to watch TV with his dad and ate home cooked meals prepared by his mom. It was a scene like out of a horror movie, starring the Australian as its sole survivor.

Sniper wanted to scream, he wanted to yell out for his parents, he wanted to say their names and he wanted to hear them reply and apologize for leaving the house in such a mess, there’s been a flood or a hurricane or any other explanation, they just didn’t expect Sniper to visit, they just moved out, they…

They were lying down in the hallway, motionless, tattered clothes and skin drained of color, their faces covered by shadows looming over them.

Something inside Sniper’s world shattered at that moment. He took a step back, as if something was physically pushing him away from the awful scene that was displayed in front of him. The ringing in his ears grew louder and his breathing had stopped altogether.

It was his mom and dad. It was them, there was no doubt. No matter how hard he wished for this to be different people, for the truth to be different, he recognized them even without seeing their faces. Sniper was terrified. He trembled, unsure what to do. He wanted to reach out to them but he was frozen in place.

He became unaware of his surroundings and his sight was blurring as the world spun around him. He felt like he was about to crumble to the floor and lose himself - but suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, gripping him tight and bringing him back to reality.

He turned around to see Spy’s unmasked face which he had grown accustomed for the past few days. A face Sniper was more than glad to see right now - it reminded him that he was not alone. It carried a concerned expression, blue eyes soft with worry. It was so unusual for the French killer.

He spoke in a quiet voice,

“Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Sniper had relocated himself, sitting on the broken down porch and basked in the last rays of sun that painted the earth in a warm, saturated orange. The beautiful dark blue night sky sprinkled with bright stars was creeping up behind the mountain far away and it made Sniper sigh. Just how long as he been sitting here, lost in thoughts, while the world around him didn’t care and moved on?

No matter how much it felt like time was frozen for him, like he was stuck in a nightmare, he had to accept the reality that things had to go on even if nothing of this had been part of his plans. He heard rustling behind him, the creaking of wooden planks and a door closing.

“It was a robbery. The Australium you said they had stored is gone, together with the content of some drawers upstairs. They probably took all the valuables.” It was Spy, who had checked out the situation inside after he had received permission to do so. Sniper had not been able to say much, but told him to check a specific place where his dad used to store a small coin of pure Australium. It was the most valuable thing he owed, and now it’s gone.

Spy sat next to Sniper on the porch and pulled out his cigarette case. He offered one to the Australian, who didn’t decline this time. They sat on the porch, smoking in silence. The last daylight vanished and the gentle light of the stars above covered them. The sky was beautiful out here without any light pollution, it was so clear and vibrant. It was just as Sniper remembered it every night he had stayed with his parents, it hasn’t changed at all. It was so beautiful, so surreal - it made him want to cry.

“I- I told my ‘pa. I told him to move to the city, to move to safety. He was getting old, and will be unable to protect ‘ma any longer. I told him and his face went red with anger. He yelled at me and said he has plenty of fight left in his bones and he will kick my bloody ass if I dare say that again. And once he calmed down he asked me how I can expect him to give up this house - the house he raised me in. He kept asking: what about the sheep? What about your mother, who loves this place so much? What’s some old folks like us gonna do in the big city?”

Sniper took a deep breath to collect himself. “I think he didn’t want to let me know but he really clung to the idea to preserve one last spot on this damned earth where I could always return to. He really had a soft heart, hidden behind that stoic facade. He wanted to give me a place that’s always unchanging, where things were normal for a while, where I could always truly feel like I am coming _home._ ” He was glad to be still wearing his sunglasses, as the words stung deep inside him and made his eyes water.

Sniper continued to look up to the sky, silently counting all the stars he could see to occupy his mind to prevent him from breaking down right here, in front of Spy, who had been silently listening to his story.

“... Do you want to bury them?” Spy asked, after he had put his cigarette out on the ground. Sniper just shook his head. “Do you want me to bury them?” 

Sniper hung his head low and thought for a moment.

“No. No, I have a better idea. I can’t let this place exist anymore, not like this. If you could just give me some of the petrol, I’d be th-” Spy got up before Sniper could finish his meek request.

“I understand.”

* * *

They both got in the car, Spy as the driver. Sniper has quietly stated his offer that he can take over later and that he will be fine with driving, but Spy politely declined, saying that he should not worry about him.

Sniper looked in the rear-view mirror, staring at the yellow bouquet he had put down on the porch, soon to be engulfed in the flames that currently worked their way throughout the whole house, eating it up slowly and burning it to the ground. He hoped they will leave nothing but ashes.

Spy started the motor and drove onto the gravel path that was enlightened by the fire behind them. With all of this done, they started making their way back…

home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse for this being so late. sorry!

The lock clicked into place and Spy pushed the front door open, taking a few steps to reach the living room inside, dragging himself with the last of his energy. He was too exhausted to even take off his shoes, as every muscle in his body was aching and stiff. His eyelids were heavy like stones, ready to fall closed at any time and he left the lights turned off as he wandered inside, wanting nothing but comforting darkness. All he thought about was crashing into his bed as soon as possible.

Spy’s companion, Sniper, followed reluctantly. His head was hanging low and eyes hidden away under the behind the brim of his head. He followed Spy’s lead and stumbled inside with boots on his feet, something that he never dared to do before.

They hadn’t exchanged more words than absolutely necessary on the way back, even if they had stayed awake the whole journey. Sniper wasn’t able to go to sleep and Spy refused to let him take over the wheel.

Sniper’s head hurt, and his body felt numb. He couldn’t believe they were back at the house now, where it all had started just this morning. It felt like they’ve been gone for an eternity, yet it all happened in just one single awful day.

The clock read a bit after 4 a.m., an awful time to be awake without a good reason. Dawn was already at the doorsteps yet the night still lingered on, leaving the travellers feeling like they were lost between days.

Sniper clenched his jaw tight. He wasn’t holding up well, feeling dreadful, head spinning. On top of his parents being dead he had also wasted an entire day of Spy’s life, making him drive around the Australian outback for absolutely nothing. The car had taken a bit of a beating, too, and he knew how much the Frenchman loved his car. Sniper had been a big nuisance to him once again and knowing that... hurt. Standing in the corridor of this house hurt. Simply being here hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Sniper blurted out, the first thing he had said in hours and he was startled at the sudden sound of his own voice. Spy turned around, his eyebrows knitted together, tired eyes looking at him with worry.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for. We need to get ourselves some sleep and see things through tomorrow.” He told him calmly, rubbing his temples.

“All I’ve done is being a bother to ya’. This ain’t right. I shoulda- I should’ve left a long time ago. I should’ve left as soon as soon as I read that note by Miss Pauling,” he put his hands to his head, marching around in a small circle, head still hanging low. “I- I should’ve just gone to my parents earlier, maybe I could’ve done something, maybe I could’ve-”

Spy grabbed his arm, stopping and turning him around so they were facing each other. They locked eyes and could clearly see the exhaustion, emotionally and physically, reflected in each other’s face, despite the only source of light being the dim morning glow that trickled through the window.

After a few moments of silence, Spy shook his head. With a voice barely louder than a whisper, “there’s nothing you could have done.” 

Tears welled up, this time not hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. “But if I had been there, then…” The grip around his arm tightened increasingly, and he stopped.

“Then what? Tell me, what would you have done, facing a group of bandits who mercilessly murdered an old couple? Would you have asked them to kindly wait a minute so you could hide up the hill and snipe them down one by one? Would you have swung around your kukri wildly, taking down five men at once? Ethan, tell me, what would really have happened if you had been there?” Spy raised his voice as he shook Sniper to emphasize his words. Not out of anger, no, out of worry.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what would have happened.” Sniper replied after some moments, looking down at the floor. He mumbled, “but at least I could’ve tried to protect them.”

“And you would have failed and died right in front of their eyes.” Spy growled, and let go of Sniper’s arm to rush to the kitchen, turning on the light and searching for the next available bottle of wine.

Sniper followed him, confused and outraged. “How would you even know that? I can fight, I could have done something if I had been there! I could have helped them if I wasn’t such a bloody idiot,” Spy took a swig of the wine, directly from the bottle, ”wasting my time around here, a place where I’m being useless all the time! How dare you-”

“Because I know who did it!” Spy slammed down the bottle on the table with such vigor, it was a miracle it hadn’t shattered. Sniper went silent in shock.

“Goddamnit, Ethan, I know who did it. I know who killed your parents and you know what the worst is: I knew they were going to attack. _You_ couldn’t have prevented it but, goddamnit, _I_ could have.” He took the bottle into his hands again, “I could have. But I didn’t, out of my own damn arrogance.”

Sniper felt the world crumbling around him for a second time in the past 24 hours. He froze, swayed to the side and leaned onto the kitchen counter for support. “What do you mean? How did you know?” He asked with unbelieving eyes opened wide, scanning Spy’s face for answers without any success.

“I should be the one apologizing for all of this.” Spy muttered as he turned and looked out of the window, his voice strained and filled with sadness. He took another swig from the wine bottle, which made Sniper visibly upset.

“Stop drinking and tell me how the hell you knew about this!” He wanted to snatch the bottle from Spy, but due to serious lack of sleep and general nausea, he missed and had to lean onto the counter for support again.

Spy eyed him and sighed. “We should move to the living room for this. I need to sit down and you do as well.” He put the bottle onto the counter, showing Sniper that he won’t take it with him.

Sniper bit back his complaints. He agreed, but only because he could barely stand upright and had no energy to keep on fighting, even though he wanted to.

They left, turning off the light in the kitchen and making their way to the living room. Sniper was the first to sit down on the couch and, to his surprise, Spy sat down on the couch as well, leaving the armchair empty.

Spy slumped forward, holding his head in his hands, and sighed. Sniper waited for him in bitter silence to start talking - start telling him what was going on - and stared at him from the side, slowly realizing the reason why Spy chose to sit next to him.

The clock read 4:22 a.m.

“It’s the Australium they are after.” Spy started after a pause too long and unnerving. “Your father owned a coin of pure Australium, you said. They knew, attacked and took it. No matter how small the loot or how brutal they have to be, those bastards don’t care. As long as they get what they want, they will travel the wastelands of this planet to dig up even the tiniest scrap of this cursed metal.” Spy spoke slowly, his voice deep and filled with resentment.

“Who… who is ‘they’? You told me you knew. So, tell me.” Sniper asked impatiently, shifting towards the man next to him on the couch.

Spy still didn’t look up. “It’s the enemy… and the reason why I’m here. The reason why Miss Pauling sent me here. I called them a group of bandits but they are much worse than that. They are scum, hired by even bigger scum.”

“But… How did they know that my father owned that coin?”

“They have a high tech scanner, most likely built by the BLU Engineer himself.” Sniper shifted in seat, the gears in his head turning. Slowly the pieces of information he has been given started to paint a picture in his head. A picture he wasn’t fond of.

“If I had shared the information I was given from the very start, you would’ve known your parents were in danger. But I just acted like an arrogant fool, trying to prove your incompetence with my uncooperativeness.” Spy slowly sat upright, turning his head towards Sniper.

“I am sorry.”

The clock read 4:35 a.m. as the first rays of light slithered through the window curtains, gently illuminating the maskless face of the French killer. His usual rough and sharp features were blurred out in the morning glow. But still, the stark display of genuine remorse was indisputable.

Spy opened and closed his mouth slightly, as if to say something, before his expression shifted and his face became so blurry it was impossible for Sniper to tell what kind of expression he might have.

The world became too damn blurry. Then, Sniper felt something wet sliding down his cheek, something warm but it couldn’t be blood, no, it was a tear. Then, a flood of tears.

Before he knew it, Sniper started sobbing. He broke down in tears, with awful sounds coming from deep within his throat. A wave of pain shot through his entire body with every sob that escaped him, agonizing sobs he couldn’t control.

Something inside Sniper had just broken. Something that he had been barely able to hold back for these past hours had finally come loose, and swept out in a powerful wave of pent up emotions.

All because Spy had genuinely apologized to him for the first time ever, because Spy had allowed himself to show weakness to Sniper, his facade had crumbled to pieces and he had let himself become vulnerable.

The tears would not stop for a long while. The Australian kept sitting on the couch, both hands occasionally trying to rub away the tears that continued to leak, not paying attention to his surroundings. At some point he felt a weight lift from the couch and thought that must be Spy leaving the room to go to sleep upstairs. But after a while he felt a comforting softness of a blanket around his shoulders and back, as Spy told him to lie down. And so he did.

Surprisingly, just the act of lying down on the couch calmed him down enough to stop drowning the living room with his sounds of sadness. Spy left the room once again and returned shortly afterwards, this time holding a glass of water in his hand.

“Drink this once you feel like it. It’s just cold water but it will help.” He placed it on the table and sat down on the floor, back leaning onto the couch. He took a deep breath. “I guess you must hate me now.”

Spy’s words caught Sniper off-guard. Hate him? Because he didn’t tell him information that could have easily prevented the death of his only family left on earth? Thinking about it rationally, it would make sense. But…

“No. I don’t hate you. I hate the bastards who killed them, not you.” Sniper spoke as he stared at the ceiling. His voice was rough and tired but at least he had managed to start breathing normally again. “Not sure why. Better not ask before I change my mind.”

“I see.” Spy said after a short pause. “Then I will not ask why and instead make you an offer: I will help you take revenge. From now on, we both have the same goal. I need to finish the task given by Miss Pauling and you need to bring those men to justice. I want to ask for your cooperation, if you allow me.”

Sniper thought in silence, before he gave his answer. “That means no more hidin’ secrets, right? No more stubbornness and fightin’ each other. That means from now on you’ll listen to what I have to say and trust me.”

“That is what I understand under cooperation, yes. It is still six days before Miss Pauling arrives in Australia. Which means we have six days to try and figure out how to track the enemy on our own and stop them before they do any more damage. With your knowledge of this continent and my intel we might be able to do so sooner than planned. We might be able to get the upper hand.”

Sniper hummed in confirmation. “Then it’s a deal. Let’s show those assholes the Aussie way of kickin’ ass.”

Spy got up from the floor, straightening his jacket out of habit. “But first, we need to get some rest. There’s no use in trying to come up with a plan on a brain running on low energy.” He swiftly looked at Sniper who was already snuggled under the covers. “I suppose you’re fine like that? Don’t forget the water I brought you.”

Sniper grumpily looked up to the usually cold and ignorant Frenchman who suddenly seemed to care about him. He was about to say a snarky reply like, ‘oh how about you tell me a bedtime story and give me a kiss on the cheek’, but remembered the genuine apology from before.

The apology that had been the final crack in the glass.

“I’m fine. Get yourself to bed. I’ll see ‘ya in just a few hours I s’ppose.” It was hard to hide the tiredness in his voice. Today has been a long day. Too long.

Spy made his way out of the living room, looking back one last time. “I’ll talk to you later. _Bonne nuit._ "

Those words managed to put a slight smile on Sniper’s face. “Good night to you too.”

He closed his eyes and fell asleep faster than ever before. The exhaustion, physically and mentally, seemed to be lifted off his shoulders as he blissfully dreamt of nothing at all. And that was all he needed for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am going to try my damn hardest to get the next chapter out soon(er). thank you for your patience and amazing comments ive gotten so far.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt wanna split the upcoming chapters but its gotten to a ridiculous length. so here is part 1! next part is almost done (seriously!), thank you for your patience and amazing support as always <3

“Hey, wake up. You have a most hideous snore, did you know that?” 

Sniper felt the comforting warmth he was cocooned within escape as the covers were ripped away.

“F’cks sake, what’s goin’ on,” he mumbled and hid his face behind his hands.

“It’s been a few hours. I have grown tired of having to listen to the cacophonic encore of you sleeping.” The curtains were drawn back and a flood of light marched through the living room, increasing the groans coming from the Australian.

“Ugh, I feel like I’ve only just closed my eyes, damnit, what time is it?” He turned around on the couch, shielding himself from the harsh sunlight.

“It is 11:45. You have slept more than enough. I have been up for quite some time now and thought about what we should do next. Would’ve been easier to concentrate without your... audio input.” Spy zoomed through the living room, opening curtains and putting things back into place as he kept talking. “Once you are freshened up and ready to talk about the plan come to the kitchen. I’ll be preparing… ‘breakfast’, so to speak. I guess you take your coffee black?” 

Spy stared at the pathetic figure curled up on the couch who made no effort of getting up. He sighed. “Actually, you can prepare your coffee yourself. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah, good mornin’ to ya as well.” He mumbled into the couch cushions, exhausted and annoyed. What a damn way to wake up, he thought.

Seems like things are mostly back to normal. And Sniper appreciated that.

* * *

It took Sniper a good 20 minutes and some more nagging from Spy before he finally present himself at the small table in the kitchen, sitting opposite from the Frenchman who looked at him grimly.

“My coffee’s already gone cold.” Spy said, right after Sniper sat down. “Do you always take that long in the morning?”

Sniper, still not feeling fully awake just grimaced. “Oh, uh, do you always act like an ass first thing in the morning? Oh yeah, wait - don’t say anything. I already know the answer.”

Spy rolled his eyes. “Okay, now that we got that out of the way, can we start discussing our plans?”

Sniper’s eyes wandered from the table and around the kitchen. “Yeah, no. I thought you said you’d prepare some breakfast but there’s nothin’ here? Did ya’ already eat it all yourself?” He asked, worried that he will leave this table on an empty stomach.

“No.” Spy pointed at his half-empty cup of coffee, “this _is_ breakfast. Don’t complain, I told you to go make your own.”

Sniper’s mind went blank for a second, until he realized what he meant. “Oh, so you classify a cup of coffee as breakfast? That’s it? No wonder you’re this cranky in the mornings. Can’t start the day on an empty stomach!”

“Yes, we can.” Spy punctuated his words by tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. “Now stop turning this into a healthy lifestyle lecture and let’s get to the point. We need to concentrate on coming up with a new plan. No distractions-”

An unknown noise, two happy sounding notes, went through the house and caught the two bickering men completely off-guard.

They waited in silence and confusion for a few moments, staying on high alert and bracing themselves for anything. Then they heard the same noise again, and Sniper almost started laughing, as he realized what that noise meant.

Ding-dong. It was just the unfamiliar doorbell that they’ve never heard before. Which meant somebody was at the door and they weren’t really expecting anyone.

“Who’s gonna go answer it?” Sniper asked, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“No one. We…” _another ring,_ “...ignore it.”

“Ignore it? C’mon, it’s the middle of the day and we’re sitting right by the window, it’s obvious that we’re both home!”

“Keep your voice down!” Spy barked, louder than Sniper, as the bell rang again. “It would not be wise to just open the door to some stranger. We do not know who it is. It could be an enemy.”

Two additional rings of the doorbell went through the house and the Australian got up. “That’s it. They gotta be an Aussie if they keep ringin’ it like that. I’m gonna go check it out.”

Spy groaned. “And I thought we were going to start cooperating from now on.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Yeah yeah, and I thought you were gonna trust me from now on. Just let me handle this.” Sniper said as he walked confidently towards the door, patting his hair down in an attempt to fix it and putting on a smile.

He opened the door to an elderly couple, a woman and a man. Sniper was right, they are obviously Australian from the looks of their mustaches. The man was holding a giant basket filled with baked goods, small packets individually wrapped with colorful bows made out of paper. They both smiled wide at the appearance of Sniper.

“G’day there neighbour! Glad to finally catch you at the door! We wanted to introduce ourselves and brought some cookies my wife made so you can settle into your new home just fine.” The husband, almost as tall as Sniper, grabbed his hand and went for a long and painful handshake.

“Darling, please, don’t be so reckless! You’re obviously hurting his hand.” The woman spoke up, concerned about the vigor from her husband. He stopped, and took a step back.

“Ah, sorry mate. We don’t get a lot of foreigners around these parts, my bad.” He laughed it off, confidence not wavering.

“Err, actually I’m born here. Just grew up in the Outback, is all.” Sniper replied, a bit perplexed from the turn of events. He briefly checked his hand for any damage before he went back to smiling at the couple.

They stared in bewilderment for a second before returning a heartfelt smile. “Ohh, our bad! Now, now, I hope this little misunderstandin’ won’t spoil the warm welcome we’ve prepared. Darlin’, if you could…”

The woman stepped forward and helped present the basket, now waiting for Sniper to take it.

“Oh, thank you!” He clumsily took it with both hands, almost dropping it, as he didn’t expect it to be this heavy. “Wow, this looks like a lot of work. You shouldn’t have!” He tried to show genuine gratefulness while struggling to hold the basket in his hands, wrapping paper hitting his eyes and tickling his nose. “Haha yeah, you really shouldn’t have…” He mumbled. Damn, this thing was way too heavy!

“The name’s John, and this is my wonderful wife Jacqueline. Sorry it took us so long to finally drop by, we just came back from some wonderful time together at the west coast. And I’m sure you know how it is with the packing and traveling with your wife…” The man named John winked.

Sniper, definitely not knowing ‘how it is’ eagerly nodded his head. Before he could say anything, John started talking again.

“Speaking of having a wonderful time together, me and my darlin’ wanted to invite you over to our place for dinner tonight. You know, the community around here is very tightly knitted together ‘n having newcomers over is like a tradition at this point. And it’s the season where we could start up the old barbie every once in a while!” He enthusiastically explained and didn’t leave much breathing room for the very overwhelmed sniper.

“Oh, dinner? Sure, I got no plans tonight.” Wait. Spy would definitely not approve of this.

“Actually, I need to ask my, uh, husband first. I think he might wanna spend some time together tonight.” He carefully and awkwardly added, trying to talk himself out of this situation. His face turned red just by mentioning the word ‘husband’.

Meanwhile, the couple’s face lit up again. “Oh? Just bring him along! It’s going to be lovely, trust us.” The woman clasped her hands together, smiling like an angel... or like a saleswoman trying to sell you some shady product. 

“I’m not sure if-” Sniper started but was quickly interrupted.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea!” Spy appeared in the doorway, a wide smile and gleaming eyes framing his face. “Mr. Gerárd Mundy is my name. Nice to meet you.” He shook the hands of their visitors, who were pleasantly surprised to see him.

“So it’s settled! Tonight, at 1800 sharp. Our house number is 48, you can easily spot it by the kangaroos livin’ in the lawn. I hope you and your husband like brussel sprouts!” John boasted a mighty laugh after all hands were thoroughly shook.

“Certainly. We will be there. See you tonight, then.” Spy said and closed the door, smile not faltering till the lock clicked into place.

“What the hell was that about? I thought ya’ didn’t wanna interact with, you know, potential enemies and all that crap.” Sniper, still struggling with the huge basket in his hands, complained and clumsily tried to find an empty spot to get this very generous gift off his hands.

“They’re Mrs. and Mr. Johnson, I did some research on them. I think they actually might have some important information for us.” Spy explained, expression back to a bored gaze. He didn’t bother to help his companion placing down the basket and just watched as he was getting hit in the face repeatedly by a very stubborn piece of plastic ribbon.

“Research?” Sniper managed to ask as he finally able to free his hands, rubbing his nose. He felt as if he just got a third nostril from getting poked in the face.

“Yes. When you were busy doing nothing the first week I was researching the area. I researched the people living around here and the former residents of this house. The man we just spoke to was a formerly in the military.” Spy further explained as he head to the living room.

“Alright, but how’s that gonna help us? From the looks of this dude he’s gotta be retired for at least 10 years.” Sniper followed Spy into the living room, curious about where this all was going.

“That’s the point. I’ve been thinking…” Spy sat down on the couch and crossed his legs. “The force we are up against must be hiding somewhere. Somewhere not in the public eye and a place big enough to hide a whole army, with weapons and resources fitting for one. They have to move occasionally since they’re traveling to find all the Australium there is.” 

Sniper sat down in the armchair, scratching his chin. “Well damn, that’d require a ton of time and effort.”

Spy hummed. “Well, not necessarily. If you took all your resources with you every time, then yes. But if you left everything behind and simply moved to a fully-furnished base every time…” 

Sniper perked up. “Like, an old military base?” 

“Exactly.” Spy moved forward, closer to the edge of the couch. “It might be a good opportunity to get ahold of a map with all the locations, as it is not public knowledge. If we do obtain a map we can track their route easily and predict their next move.” He paused for a moment.

He sighed. "Or it might be just be another waste of time where we get stuck at dinner with an old Australian couple who want to talk about that time a dingo stole their baby or how they single-handedly fought a horde of wild crocodiles.”

Sniper crossed his arms, holding back on correcting Spy that it was actually called ‘a float of crocodiles’. “But you still agreed to it. I’m guessin’ it’s the only hint we got to findin’ those bastards?”

Spy got up from the couch. “Yes. We might as well try our best before Miss Pauling arrives in a few days.” He walked towards the door, grabbing the keys. “I’m heading out for today but will be back on time. Try not to burn the house down while I am gone, thank you.”

“Hey, you’ve never told me not to do that before. Why do you suddenly care?” Sniper got up from the armchair. “And where are you going?”

“As I just said: out.” He opened the door. “Don’t eat too many cookies before dinner. Goodbye.”

The door closed and Sniper was left alone again. He stood in the corridor, unsure what to do with himself, as he glared at the extravagant basket. “I can do whatever I want,” he mumbled and grabbed one of many cookies to come.

* * *

It was 5:30 p.m. and Sniper was lying on the couch, arms wrapped around himself, twisting and turning left and right. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing him in the stomach, and thanks to his time with RED, he actually knew what that felt like. Cold sweat was forming on his forehead and for the past hour he’s been trying hard not to throw up.

“Ah, bugger.” He groaned and tightly clenched his jaw. He had to get dressed for the dinner before Spy waltzes in and gets to see this mess. He would definitely go ‘I told you so’ and Sniper really didn’t need any more reasons to feel bad about what he did.

And that was the exact moment when he heard the front door unlock and Spy walked into the living room, staring at the writhing mess of a person that Sniper currently was.

Spy stood there in silence, mouth slightly agape. His eyes wandered to the now half-empty cookie treasure basket, crumbs still evidently surrounding it.

“I told you not to eat too many cookies.” Spy sighed, rubbing his eyes in disappointment. He sounded very tired.

“Yeah, but you also told me not to burn the house down.”

“Yes… And?”

“Well, I didn’t do that. You gotta give me some credit for that at least.” Sniper said as he gave a pathetic laugh, followed by whines of pain.

“Very funny. We have to leave in 20 minutes, get a grip and get changed - try to wear a shirt without any grease spots on it. And do not make me wait.” Spy commanded in a condescending voice.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be there in a moment. Let me just-” Sniper said as he stood up and got hit by a wave of nausea, “-run to the toilet.” He finished, clutching his stomach and quickly making his way to the bathroom.

“Great. This evening can only go well.” Spy mumbled under his breath, dreading the next few hours of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

“I guess that’s what they meant by ‘kangaroos livin’ in their lawn’.” Sniper pointed out to Spy as they walked past a lawn sprinkled with plastic kangaroos prepped up on their tails, similar to the well-known pink flamingo counterpart.

“Well, who would've guessed. Knowing this inane country, I wouldn’t be shocked by spotting some actual kangaroos hopping around in the confinement of a lawn.” The Frenchman commented, putting out the cigarette he’s been smoking by throwing it onto the ground carelessly.

“Can’t really say what would've been more distasteful…” Sniper contemplated as he stared into the liveless faces of the plastic creatures, cartoonish big eyes and their huge grin sending shivers down his spine. “These things are horrifying!”

Spy paid them no attention, going straight for the door. “Save the horror for when we’re inside.” He rang the bell and Sniper behind him groaned.

“Why can’t you just at least try to enjoy one damn evenin’ together? We’re being invited for dinner, it can’t be that bad! It’s free food, after all.” He tried to convince his grumpy-as-usual companion.

“We are here for acquiring intel related to our mission. This isn’t a dinner night for leisure. And even if it was, your track record of those isn’t looking good.”

Sniper scoffed. The memories of that night still stung deeply. “Oh please! It would’ve gone well if, uh, the circumstances had been better.”

“Yes, indeed. If only ‘the circumstances’ had been better…” he turned around, facing the Australian, “then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in this damn country, about to spend precious time of my life attending a funeral party with a man who’s most likely to shit his pants from an unfortunately non-lethal overdose of granny’s cookies.”

Sniper stared at Spy with wide eyes. He was upset at his words, yes, but he was puzzled more than anything. And maybe even a bit impressed by how much of an asshole the spy can manage to be.

“I’m, uh, more likely to throw up than anythin’ else if I’m bein’ honest.” Was all he could reply with.

“I think I’m going to throw up as well” Spy sighed.

Before Sniper could complain about the constant negativity, the door of the house opened and they were greeted by the sight of a beautiful young lady wearing a black and white uniform. She had lovely smooth golden hair tied up in a neat ponytail, warm brown eyes and a round face painted with perfect makeup. She smiled at them.

“Bloody hell, I think we got the wrong kangaroo-ridden lawn after all…” Sniper mumbled under his breath as he stared at the woman in front of him in awe.

“Good evening! Are you Mister and Mister Mundy?” The lady asked, with a small pause before the second ‘Mister’. 

Before any of them could reply she stepped aside, making space for the visitors. “The Johnsons are expecting you. Please follow me.”

Sniper and Spy exchanged a quick glance before entering the house. They followed the lady’s directions, as she was walking behind them, and ended up in what can they could only assume to be the dining room.

The room itself was… overwhelming. Vibrant paintings of various landscapes decorated the high walls, lacy curtains covered the wide windows and the pelt of an enormous arctic bear sat in the center of the polished oak floor.

The only indication that what they have entered was not some lavish National History or Art Museum was the large mahogany dining table with 8 polished chair surrounding it. The table was covered in a pearly off-white cloth complete with gold stitching and fancy looking plates and cutlery perfectly aligned on top of it. It was set for four people, but had more cutlery on it than Sniper and Spy had in their entire house.

“Please take a seat. I will tell the Johnsons about your arrival.” The lady told them and left the undercover agents on their own.

They waited a few moments, making sure she was out of earshot before Sniper frantically started whispering.

“‘The hell is goin’ on here? I thought some old couple invited us for dinner, not the Queen herself!”

“Calm down bushman, they’re just wealthy.” Spy walked to the table and sat down. “Not everyone has been screwing around and living in a van for the majority of their life.”

"Just wealthy? They're bloody rich! They even got a maid!"

“Yes, it seems like they do. Now would you please sit down and try to act like a civilized adult? I know I’m already asking the impossible of you but please remember to follow the plan we talked about.” Spy shot him an icy glare when he finished talking. It was clear that he was in a bad mood, so Sniper just sat down next to him without another word.

It only took a few seconds of silence before Sniper started picking up the different forks, knives and spoons that were assigned to his plate and looked at them pensively. He picked them up, took a closer look, scoffed and put them back down in the wrong spot. Spy rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what the issue was.

“Would you just stop, please? I’m sure you know nothing about proper table manners but even you should be able to tell that your behaviour is unacceptable.”

“What? I’m just tryin’ to make sense out of this arrangement of cutlery. I mean, no sane person should need more than one fork to eat.” He said and waved around a fan of forks he had been given.

“Put those down!” Spy quickly grabbed the hand of Sniper. “They could be arriving any mome-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as the Johnsons and the maid walked in. Spy quickly let go of Sniper’s hand, maybe a bit too quickly.

“Welcome, friends! I’m glad you could make it.” John announced with a big smile on his face. He was wearing a bright, colorful hawaiian shirt and pants that could neither be called shorts nor full-length pants, something weirdly in the middle. He walked over to where his guests were sitting, eagerly grabbing each of their hands for a vigorous handshake.

His wife, Jacqueline, followed and sat down at the table with a slight smile on her face. She was wearing a simple, long dress and she had her gray hair tied up in a bun.

Once they had all sat down (even John, who seemed to would have prefered giving his guests a tour around the house) the maid started bringing in the appetizers. She started by serving Spy, seemingly the random choice between him and Sniper, but it made the Frenchman smirk.

“ _Merci, Mademoiselle._ I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of introducing myself yet. I am Gérard.” His French accent peaked, “May I have the name of this beautiful young lady?” He asked while she was pouring him a glass of wine. The tone of his voice was rather… flirty, as Sniper would describe it.

“Sir, please, you may call me Jessica. I am sorry for not introducing me earlier but I wasn’t sure if one might be interested.” She replied and smiled warmly. A foreign accent was noticeable, but Sniper couldn’t tell what it was exactly.

“Oh, I can assure you that I am more than interested. It is not every day that my eyes are blessed by someone this pretty.”

Jessica giggled and moved onto serving Sniper, who was at this point frowning deeply.

He disliked that Spy was being so friendly with this lady. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact reason but it just felt wrong to him - a nagging feeling he couldn’t ignore. He felt like this shouldn’t be happening. He felt upset.

“Oh! Jessica is our lovely housekeeper. She helps us old folks out with chores and looks after our home when we’re gone. Speakin’ of, I need to tell you about our holidays last week. You should’ve seen it! My dainty wallflower here was wrestlin’ some shark like it was nothin’!” John threw his hands up in the air, gesturing excitedly while Jacqueline nodded proudly.

The pair of mercenaries pretended to listen to the stories of past holidays while they ate the appetizers, soup, entree and they even started chewing away at the main dish as his wife finally spoke up for the first time this evening.

“Oh my, is there something wrong with the steak that we’ve prepared?” She asked with concern, looking at Spy’s plate.

“Do not worry, _Madame,_ I am merely saving the best for my husband. I know how much he loves steak!” He replied and put his untouched steak onto Sniper’s plate without any warning. “And anyways, I like to watch my figure, unlike him.” He grinned.

Sniper’s grip on the fancy cutlery in his hands increased so much he thought he might bend it. There was no way he’s going to eat that extra steak after all those cookies! And did Spy just call him fat?

“Haha, yeah, thank you. Lovely husband.” He spat through gritted teeth. He just had to play along, just follow the damn plan and it might all be worth it.

Right, the plan. Maybe this teasing was Spy’s way of telling him to go and search for the military plans they came here for. Or maybe he was just being an ass as always - either way, time was running out.

Sniper stood up and all eyes were on him. “I, uh, have to use the bathroom.” Well, this wasn’t weird at all. Just going to the bathroom while everyone is still eating. Good thinking.

“Oh, sure! Jessica, can you show him where the bathroom is?” John said after a short pause caused by confusion.

Sniper waved his hands, “no, no, it’s fine! Just tell me where it is and I can find the way on my own.” He had to be alone to snoop around the house after all, so the maid following him would thwart their plan.

“Just tell him,” Spy added. “Trust me, my husband has a thick skull. He wants to do everything on his own all the time.” He sighed dramatically but then grinned. “Typical Australian.”

John burst into laughter, slapping his hand on the table. “Oh my! Look at this honesty, I just love the French!” He continued laughing, cutlery launching left and right as he continued to hit the table, the maid picking it up from the ground with ease. It seemed like she was used to this.

“Alright, alright,” John wiped a tear from his eye, “the bathroom is upstairs, it’s the last room on the right. Good luck!” He chuckled. Damn, this guy was easy to amuse. Sniper had a hard time not rolling his eyes.

Once Sniper was out of the living room he heard Spy talking to the maid again, making another joke at Sniper’s expense, which she found to be very funny. Her high-pitched giggling followed him as he was stomping up the stairs, feeling awful - and not only because of all the food he has eaten.

He cast his negative feelings aside for now and followed the plans they have made earlier: he would snoop around, trying to find some sort of map that would reveal all military bases around the area while Spy was distracting the couple with his amazing social skills. ‘Skills’ that apparently translate to ‘flirting with the good-looking woman while his husband does the dirty work’. 

Sniper shook his head. 

‘Pretend-husband’, he corrected himself. Still, it pissed him off that he had to do something that Spy was way more suitable for. He was the spy, he should be the one snooping around! He can’t remember why he agreed to do this part of the plan, but at the same time, being alone with those people downstairs seemed like a nightmare for the socially inept Sniper.

He cursed under this breath and opened one door after another, taking a glimpse inside each room until he found what he believed to be some sort of study. It was a moderately sized room with shelves filled to the brim with heavy-bound books and polished trophies shining even in the lowest of light. A big desk with papers lying on top was standing on the far side of the room, right by the window. Sniper entered the room and left a gap in the door open so the light from the corridor would help him see.

He walked towards the desk, starting to feel bad for invading the privacy of the elderly couple. He started to sweat and felt like every step he took made way too much noise, scared they could hear him walking somewhere he wasn’t meant to go. Nonetheless, he started looking through the papers that were scattered on the desk. Most of them seemed to be holiday related letters and diary entries. Sniper moved onto opening the various drawers, finding small trinkets and coins in many different currencies among more documents and binders filled with private informational stuff.

His hands started to sweat excessively and he was chewing the inside of his mouth. Time was running out. It would be very weird for him to be gone for an extended period of time, and he didn’t want Spy to be left alone with them, especially that maid, for too long. He grabbed a binder and tried to pull quickly it out of the drawer, somehow taking the whole drawer with it. It fell on the floor and spilled its contents everywhere - coins, pens, papers, some weird small statue that seemed like it belonged in a museum. Sniper cussed.

He got on the floor, hastily grabbed everything he could see in the dark and stuffed it back into the drawer. That had definitely made way too much noise. And he was definitely panicking now, fearing that they would come up the stairs and check out what’s causing all this noise. But he couldn’t go back empty-handed, not after all of this.

The next few drawers he opened thankfully seemed to lead him closer to his goal, as he was greeted by old, boring looking documents that had started to fray at the edges, specked with broken wax seals that just screamed important. He recognized some Australian government symbols and finally started to feel optimistic. The next binder he opened seemed to contain what they were looking for - a bunch of folded paper that depicted the landscapes of Australia.

Sniper threw his hands up in the air as a silent celebration.

Just as he was about to get up and go back downstairs he noticed the problematic aspect of going back with a binder he just stole from the study he wasn’t supposed to go to. He had to hide it somehow, but it was very thick and heavy, impossible to tuck under his shirt.

He started walking around in a small circle, clutching the binder in his hands. His mind was racing, he had to come up with a solution, quick. He already wasted too much time.

One of the options he considered was throwing the binder out of the window to retrieve later, but if his guess was correct then the dining room was right below the study and they might see the binder flying down from the sky.

Second option, and the only one that was left, was to take the most important papers and hide them on his body. So he started taking everything that looked like a map and stuffed it under his shirt, in his pockets, and even under his belt. When he walked out of the study he sounded like a paper bin rustling and somehow some of the paper had made it all the way to his rear, uncomfortably hugging him. It was more than unpleasant but Sniper had no other choice than to go back downstairs like this and sit through the rest of the evening with paper scraping his ass.

With careful footsteps he made it back to the dining room and was greeted by Spy kissing the hand of the maid. She blushed as she played with a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger.

“That’s how you properly greet a lady back in my home country.” Spy explained and threw a look to Sniper who was standing in the door frame, dumbfounded expression on his face.

The Johnsons gave a round of impressed ‘Ooh!’s and ‘Ah!’s as they watched Spy’s elegant demonstration. Sniper bit his lip. So that’s how Spy has been keeping them busy while Sniper had been doing all the unpleasant work.

The Australian walked towards his seat, shoulders slumped and eyes narrowed in anger. He felt furious with Spy. So furious, his mind was clouded he didn’t even question those feelings anymore.

“What was that all about?” He asked with poison in his voice.

“Oh, Monsieur Gérard just showed us how the French treat their lovers. It must be so nice to be his husband! He’s such a gentleman!” Jacqueline explained in a dreamy voice, holding one of her hands up to her chest.

Sniper couldn’t help but grimace upon hearing that statement. When he looked around the table he noticed that everyone was expecting an answer - a confirmation of Spy being an awesome lover.

His eye twitched. He wanted to prove them wrong, he wanted to tell them the truth but he knew better than to ruin everything they had worked for tonight. In the most neutral voice he could manage he gave the answer they were all waiting for: 

“Yes. It truly is a pleasure of having him as my husband.” 

The slight snicker coming from his right side didn’t escape his ears. He grit his teeth and choked back the bile that was rising in his stomach. He hardly had any time to think about how he’s going to get back at Spy before he felt another punch to the gut.

“So how did the two of you meet?” asked Jacqueline.

Crap. They have not talked about this at all.

Sniper looked at Spy for help, but the Frenchman was busy taking a sip of his wine. He had his eyes closed, concentrating on the taste of the wine and didn’t seem to be fazed by the question at all. And it didn’t seem like he was going to be the one answering it.

“Uh, well, that’s a long story.” Sniper started a lame attempt to get Spy to take over for him, but he was still sipping on the red liquid, not batting an eye.

Sniper felt adrenaline shooting through his veins for a second time this evening. He had to start coming up with a story.

“So I was in Paris a few years ago.” Yes, good start. “I was searching for a nice, uh, café to try some French coffee,” so far so good, “and I saw him, Ge-Gérard,” he totally butchered his name, “sitting at the table with the only empty spot in the room left. So I asked if I could sit with him and that’s… how we met.” He finished. 

Sniper was almost proud of himself for that. He had managed to come up with a story that’s pretty believable, even if it did sound a bit like some cliché romance story you would read in a magazine for women to squeal about.

As if on cue, Jacqueline let out a tiny squeal. “That story is so romantic! Like something out of a fairytale!”

“Or something someone just made up on the spot.” Spy added, dismissively swirling his glass around.

Sniper’s head snapped towards the Frenchman, eyes wide in shock. Did he want him to get caught lying?

But the Johnsons didn’t suspect a thing. On the contrary, the elderly couple laughed at the seemingly harmless comment from Spy, stopping their questioning.

The evening went on in a normal manner. The maid started bringing in dessert for everyone, tiramisu garnished with raspberry sauce. The ongoing mundane small talk was mostly led by Spy, who made up stories that won the hearts and interest of his listeners over effortlessly. Everyone’s except Sniper’s, of course, who knew this whole thing was a faux.

Sniper was at the end of his strength. He poked the tiramisu with the weird tiny fork that Spy had told him to use and tried to ignore the fact that there was a layer of old frayed paper on his body. He prayed that it won’t slide down his legs and fall out or even worse - make its way to his crotch. He sighed and forced a piece of dessert into his mouth. The other thing that was gnawing away at his stamina was the fact that he hasn’t actually gone to the bathroom. He felt nauseous, as his stomach was fighting a battle that might not end well if they can’t get out of here quickly.

The evening had to end. Fast.

“... don’t you agree, _mon chéri?_ ” 

Sniper felt a light tap on his shoe and perked up. He had been lost in thoughts and hasn’t been following the ongoing conversation at all, but he guessed that Spy asked him a question. All he could reply with was a dazed “what?”

“Mon Dieu, it seems like you truly are dead tired from yesterday evening. I just told them about the unusual long hours you had to work and how we should probably get going, since you are fatigued. Isn’t that right?” Spy repeated slowly, words punctuated almost one by one.

“Tired? Well, nah, actually I’m just-” Sniper perked up again, but this time it wasn’t from a light tap but a hefty stomp on his foot that made him shoot up in his chair. “-I’m actually really bloody tired. I’m beat. Exhausted. Dead!” He corrected himself.

“Ah, I thought so. What a shame to end this evening oh-so early but there’s nothing you can do. Once Ethan gets tired he gets really grumpy or sometimes just falls asleep on the spot. And there’s no way I can carry him all the way to our house!” Spy started laughing and the Johnsons joined in shortly after.

Sniper added an apathetic “yeah sure” and started moping. Did Spy just call him fat for the second time this evening?

Nonetheless, the Sniper-phobic, spontaneous plan worked in their favor. The Johnsons quickly wrapped up dinner and John's seemingly ceaseless shouting about the adventures in his life finally came to a stop. He accompanied his very tired guests to the door to say farewell for the night.

Sniper and Spy waved goodbye as they started their short journey home, walking quietly side by side. Once they were far enough from the residence, something happened that took Sniper by surprise.

Spy abruptly started laughing. It started with a light giggle, almost mistaken for a cough, but quickly erupted into full-blown laughter with snorting in-between.

The Australian couldn’t believe his eyes - and ears - as he had to stop in the middle of the pavement because his travel companion had a laughing fit so bad it rendered him unable to keep on walking. Spy was doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach while the other one was covering his face, as he gasped for air. If it hadn’t been for the occasional distinctive sound of laughter one might think that Spy was in pain and potentially coughing to death.

Sniper stared at the spectacle, not able to process what was going on. Spy remained in this state for around three minutes before he had enough breath to squeeze out a few words. 

“It sounds like you’re wearing a diaper when you move around!” His voice was high-pitched with amusement and he barely got to finish his sentence before he started laughing again. He was obviously referring to the scrunchy noises the papers on Sniper made.

Sniper was thrown out of his speechless state, now simmering with anger. “So that’s what ya’ think is so bloody funny, huh? You know, those are the maps I stole and had to stuff down my damn shirt and pants while you were busy flirtin’ and makin’ goo-goo eyes at the maid behind my back. This shit ain’t funny.” He complained and Spy’s laughter gradually subsided.

“Why - what’s your problem with that, exactly? You told me to try and enjoy myself this evening, and I did exactly that. I had fun for once.” Spy countered.

“Bloody hell, me saying that didn’t mean you could just go on and… do that.” Sniper’s voice got quiet at the end.

“Do what, exactly?”

“Well, you know… flirt with other people and such. We’re supposed to be married, after all!”

Spy frowned. There wasn’t even a trace of the delight from just a few minutes ago left on his face. His furrowed brows made him seem more concerned than angry. “Yes. We are supposed to be married. But we are not. So what is your issue?”

Sniper started fidgeting with the end of his sleeve, rubbing the fabric between two fingers. “It’s just-” he started, but got to a halt. What in the world was he even trying to say?

The truth is that Sniper knew he felt upset about the situation but didn’t really know the reason why. He knew this marriage thing is all just a fake and he knew that it meant nothing to them, right?. Hell, he didn’t even agree on it at first. At first, he didn’t even want to be part of this mission.

And then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be.

If everything had been going according to plan Sniper would have left a long while ago. It had been Miss Pauling’s orders to basically forget about this whole thing and for him to move along on his own.

But yet, he was still here, staying at Spy’s side. Making new plans to get to the goal that they now agreed on to be ‘theirs’. Spy had tolerated him and let him stay, even though he had no real reason for that, as Sniper had kept messing up. And after all the stuff they’ve been through together, Sniper wouldn’t like it to be any other way.

Well, shit.

Sniper’s face flushed red as he finally realized what all those conflicting feelings truly meant.

“...and? ‘It’s just’ what, exactly?” Spy pressed on, throwing Sniper out of his thoughts, who almost flinched upon hearing the question.

He just wasn’t ready to tell him the truth. Not now and not right here.

“I… am just really worried about our undercover identity. Can’t let anyone find out, ya’ know.” Sniper could barely keep eye contact as he lied.

Spy stared at him, eyes scanning up and down. After a short pause he simply shrugged. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s get home so I can take a look at what you’ve found.”

Sniper released the breath he had been holding. Relieved that Spy didn’t call out on him lying, he started walking, painfully aware of the noise his steps produced. Spy snickered again.

“You know, I wasn’t lying when I said I had fun.” He stated as he followed closely behind the Australian. Sniper recognized the honesty in his voice and was glad the French bastard couldn’t see his face, as it was regaining its flushed red color quickly.

Spy joined him at his side after a little while, matching his steps. Sniper didn’t say anything and just walked, deep in thought. Maybe he could have had fun at the dinner as well. And maybe he could have enjoyed this walk together, if it wasn’t for the grinding paper and the fact that his stomach hurt.

Sniper sighed. Maybe some other night they will be able to enjoy their time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is the longest chapter yet. I am very exhausted from writing this much! Anyways, The story is slowly coming to a conclusion. And by that I mean that I have the entirety of the storyline planned now! It's in my notes: from the next chapter till the very end - it's all planned out now. But it's still gonna take a while...


End file.
